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A pastoral Eclogue upon the death of Sir PHILIP SIDNEY, Knight, &c.
Lycon. Colin.
Lycon. COLIN! well fits thy sad cheer this sad stound,
This woeful stound, wherein all things complain
This great mishap, this grievous loss of ours.
Hear'st thou the Orown? How with hollow sound
He slides away, and murmuring doth plain,
And seems to say unto the fading flowers
Along his banks, unto the barèd trees;
PHILLISIDES is dead. Up, jolly swain!
Thou that with skill canst tune a doleful lay;
Help him to mourn! My heart with grief doth freeze;
Hoarse is my voice with crying, else a part
Sure would I bear, though rude: but as I may,
With sobs and sighs I second will thy song;
And so express the sorrows of my heart.
