Ah! hapless wretch, quoth she, I am
Of lovers, yea, the worst,

While some delight to feel love's flame

I think myself accurst ;

Yet will I never rest till I

Find out this prince of mine, Who strangely, and so privately, Forsook his Amadine.

A shower of tears then trickled down
From her bright shining eyes,
Whose beauty did the deserts crown,
Whose sighs then fill'd the skies;
And Musidorus being near

Did chance to hear her voice, Though first he was possest with fear, At last he did rejoice.

Certain it is, quoth he, the tongue
Of my poor Amadine,

To whom I have done too much wrong,
Which grieves this soul of mine,
To her sad heart I will give ease
Since she is in distress,

For love is such a strange disease

No tongue can well express.

To Amadine he then appear'd,

Who startled was to see, She was by any over-heard,

And in a swoon fell she;

But her dear prince, with kisses sweet, Brought her again to life,

That meeting was to them most sweet, He made her soon his wife.

Ah! hapless wretch, quoth she, I am
Of lovers, yea, the worst,

While some delight to feel love's fla
I think myself accurst ;
Yet will I never rest till I

Find out this prince of mine,
Who strangely, and so privatel
Forsook his Amadine.

was to see,

ver-heard,

low-chandler, ere but shallow,

e two and sixpence

w's tallow.

Door Colly,

y my cow,

Colly will give me

No more milk now.

LXIX.

The Countryman's Lamentation for the Death of his Cow.

"A country swain of little wit one day,
Did kill his cow because she went astray,
What's that to you or I? she was his own,
But now the ass for his cow doth moan.

- Most pineously methinks he cries in vain,
For now his cow's free from hunger and pain,
What ails the fool to make so great a stir ?
She cannot come to him, he may to her.

To a pleasant country tune called-Colly my Cow.

LITTLE Tom Dogget

What dost thou mean,

To kill thy poor Colly
Now she's so lean?

Sing oh poor Colly,
Colly my cow,

For Colly will give me

No more milk now.