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 All were I drown’d in careleſſe quiet deepe: My louelie Lioneſſe without beheaſt So carefull was for them and for my good, That when I waked, neither moſt nor leaſt I found miſcaried or in plaine or wood.

Oft did the Shepeheards, which my hap did heare, And oft their laſſes which my luck enuide, Daylie reſort to me from farre and neare, To ſee my Lyoneſſe, whoſe praiſes wide Were ſpred abroad; and when her worthineſſe Much greater than the rude report they tri’de, They her did praiſe, and my good fortune bleſſe.

Long thus I ioyed in my happineſſe, And well did hope my ioy would haue no end: But oh fond man, that in worlds fickleneſſe Repoſedſt hope, or weenedſt her thy frend, That glories moſt in mortall miſeries, And daylie doth her changefull counſels bend: To make new matter fit for Tragedies.

For whileſt I was thus without dread or dout, A cruell Satyre with his murdrous dart, Greedie or miſchiefe ranging all about, Gaue her the fatall wound of deadlie ſmart: And reft fro me my ſweete companion, And reft fro me my loue, my life, my hart, My Lyoneſſe (ah woe is mee) is gon.

Out of the world thus was ſhe reſt awaie, Out of the world, vnworthie ſuch a ſpoyle; And borne to heauen, for heauen a fitter pray: Much fitter than the Lyon, which with toyle Alcides