That thy departure to us both hath bred;
Ne can each other's sorrow yet appease.
Behold the fountains now left desolate,
And withered grass with cypress boughs bespread!
Behold these flowers which on thy grave we strew!
Which faded, show the givers' faded state;
(Though eke they show their fervent zeal and pure)
Whose only comfort on thy welfare grew.
Whose prayers importune shall the heavens for aye,
That to thy ashes, rest they may assure;
That learnedst shepherds honour may thy name
With yearly praises; and the nymphs alway,
Thy tomb may deck with fresh and sweetest flowers;
And that for ever may endure thy fame.
Colin. The sun, lo, hastened hath his face to steep In western waves, and th'air with stormy showers, Warns us to drive homewards our silly sheep. Lycon! let's rise, and take of them good keep.
Virtute summa; coetera fortuna.
L. B.
