A shepherd in a shade

A shepherd in a shade,

His plaining made,

Of love and lovers' wrong,

Unto the fairest lass

That trod on grass,

And thus began his song.

Since Love and Fortune will,

I honour still

Your fair and lovely eye.

What conquest will it be,

Sweet nymph, for thee

If I for sorrow die?

Restore, restore my heart again,

Which love by thy sweet looks hath slain,

Lest that, enforc'd by your disdain, I sing:

"Fie, fie on love, it is a foolish thing."

My heart where have you laid?

O cruel maid,

To kill, when you might save!

Why have ye cast it forth,

As nothing worth,

Without a tomb or grave?

O let it be entomb'd and lie

In your sweet mind and memory,

Lest I resound on every warbling string:

"Fie, fie on love, that is a foolish thing!"