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Lamenting for their tender shepherdess,
Then he laid him down upon the grass,
The Heavens he did implore,
That he might see her once more,
O! then ye gods, says he, I shall be bless’d.
Where shall I go to find that angel bright?
She is the pleasure of my heart’s delight:
Oh! if alive she be,
Once more let me her see,
Or else my soul shall quickly take its flight.
The woods and groves with him did seem to mourn,
The small birds they did sing a mournful tune
Saying, Your true love is gone,
And you are left alone:
Then on a mossy bank he laid him down.
He had no sooner clos’d his eyes to rest,
But a milk-white dove did hover on his breast;
The fluttring wings did bear
Which wak’d him from his sleep,
And then the dove took flight, and he was left.
Now wailing for his love, in sad despair,
To his mother's garden he then did repair,
Where the dove again he did see
Sitting on a myrtle tree,
With drooping wings it did sorrowful appear.
Thou Dove so innocent, Why did you come,
O have you lost your mate, as I have done?
No shepherdess was there,
All round the vallies fair,
The pretty lambs were wand’ring to and fro.
And on the virgin did seem to go,
Out of her milk-white breast the blood did flow;
