270Cleare wels spring not, sweete birds sing not,

271Greene plants bring not forth their die,

272Heards stands weeping, flocks all sleeping,

273Nimphes blacke peeping fearefully:

274All our pleasure knowne to vs poore swaines:

275All our merrie meetings on the plaines,

276All our euening sport from vs is fled,

277All our loue is lost, for loue is dead,

278 Farewell sweet loue thy like nere was,

279 For a sweet content the cause all my woe,

280 Poore Coridon must liue alone,

281 Other helpe for him I see that there is none.