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wasteful woods, bear witness of my woe,

Wherein my plaints did oftentimes abound;

Ye careless birds my sorrows well do know,

They in your songs were wont to make a sound!

Thou pleasant spring canst record likewise bear

Of my designs and sad disparagement,

When thy transparent billows mingled were

With those downfalls which from mine eyes were sent!

The echo of my still-lamenting cries,

From hollow vaults in treble voice resoundeth,

And then into the empty air it flies,

And back again from whence it came reboundeth.

That nymph unto my clamors doth reply,

Being likewise scorned in love as well as I.