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 And when ye heare, that I am dead or ſlaine, Lament my lot, and tell your fellow ſwaines, That ſad Alcyon dyde in lifes diſdaine.

And ye faire Damſels Shepheards dere delights, That with your loues do their rude hearts poſſeſſe, When as my hearſe ſhall happen to your ſightes, Vouchſafe to deck the ſame Cypareſſe; And euer ſprinckle brackiſh teares among, In pitie of my vndeſeru’d diſreſſe, The which I wretch, endured haue thus long.

And ye poore Pilgrimes, that with feſtleſſe toyle Wearie your ſelues in wandring deſert wayes, Till that you come, where ye your vowes aſſoyle, When paſsing by ye read theſe wofull layes On my graue written, rue my Daphnes wrong, And mourne for me that languiſh out my dayes: Ceaſe Shepheard, ceaſe, and end thy vnderſong.

hus when de ended had his heauie plaint, The heauieſt plaint that euer I heard found, His cheekes wext pale, and ſprights began to faint, As if againe he would haue fallen to the ground; Which when I ſaw, I (ſtepping to him light) Amooued him out of his ſtonie ſwound, And gan him to recomfort as I might.

But he no waie recomfored would be, Not ſuffer ſolace to approach him nie, But caſting vp aſdeinfull eie at me, That in his traunce I would not let him lie, Did rend his haire, and beat his blubbred face As