The Complaint of the Shepherd Harp●●us.  
To a pleasant new Tune.  
 

Poor Harpalus, oppressed with love,  
sat by a Crystal Brooke:  
Thinking his sorrows to remove,  
oft times therein to look:  
And hearing how on pebble stones,  
the murmuring river ran,  
As if it had bewailed his groans,  
unto it thus began.   

Fair stream (quoth he) that pities me,  
and hear my matchless moan,  
If thou be going to the Sea:  
as I do now suppone,  
Attend my plaints past all relief,  
which dolefully I breath,  
Acquaint the Sea-Nymphz with the grief▪  
which still procures my death.   

Who sitting in the cliffy Rocks,  
may in their songs express,  
While as they comb their golden locks,  
poor Harpalus distress:  
And so perhaps some passenger,  
that passeth by the way,  
May stay and listen for to hear  
them sing this doleful Lay.   

Poor Harpalus, a Shepherd Swaine,  
more rich in youth then store:  
Loved fair Philena, hapless man,  
Phulena, oh therefore.  
Who still, remorseless hearted maid,  
took pleasure in his pain:  
And his good will poor soul, repaid  
with undeserved disdain.   

Near Shepherd loved a Shepherdess  
more faithfully than he:  
Near Shepherd yet beloved less  
of Shepherdess could be.  
How oft did he with dying looks,  
to her his woes impart?  
How oft his sighs did testify  
the dolour of his heart?   

How oft from Uallies to the Hills,  
did he his grief rehearse?  
How oft re-ecchoed they his ills,  
aback again (alas?)  
How oft on Barks of stately Pines,  
of Beech of Holly-greene,  
Did he engrave in mournful lines,  
the grief he did sustain?   

Yet all his plaints could have no place,  
to change Philenas' mind:  
The more his sorrows did increase,  
the more she proved unkind:  
The thought thereof with wearied care,  
poor Harpalus did move,  
That overcome with high despair,  
he lost both life and Love..   D. M. 
FINIS.   

Printed by the Assigns of Thomas Symcocke.