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 Of ought that framed is of mortall moulde, Sith that my faireſt flower is faded quight: For all I ſee is vaine and tranſitorie, Ne will be helde in anie ſtedfaſt plight, But in a moment looſe their grace and glorie.

And ye fond men on fortunes wheele that ride Or in ought vnder haeuen repoſe aſſurance, Be it riches, beautie, or honors pride: Be ſure that they ſhall haue no long endurance, But ere ye be aware will flit away; For nought of them is yours, but th’ onely vſance Of a ſmall time, which none aſcertaine may.

And ye true Louers, whom deſaſtrous chaunce Hath farre exiled from your Ladies grace, To mourne in ſorrow and ſad ſufferaunce, When ye doo heare me in that deſert place Lamenting lowde my Daphnes Elegie, Helpe me to wayle my miſerable caſe, And when life parts, vouchſafe cloſe mine eye.

And ye more happie Louers, which enioy The preſence of your deareſt loues delight, When ye doo heare my ſorrowfull annoy, Yet pittie me in your empaſsiond ſpright, And thinke that ſuch miſhap, as chaunſt to me, May happen vnto the moſt happieſt wight; For all mens ſtates alike vnſtedfaſt be.

And ye my fellow Shepheards, which do feed Your careleſſe flocks on hils and open plaines, With better fortune, than did me ſucceed, Remember yet my vnderſerued paines, And