Thirsis, let pity move thee

Thirsis, O let some pity move thee;

Thou know'st, O alas, thy Cloris too well doth love thee;

Yet thou, unkind, dost fly me.

Then why, O dost thou fly me?

I faint, alas, here must I lie me.

Cry, alas, now for grief since he is bereft thee.

Up the hills, down the dales,

Thou seest, dear, I have not left thee.

Ah, can these trickling tears of mine not procure love?

What shepherd ever kill'd a nymph for pure love!

See, cruel, see the beasts,

See their tears, they do reward me.