"And Nature, nurse of every living thing,
Let rest her selfe from her long wearinesse,
And cease henceforth things kindly forth to bring,
But hideous monsters full of uglinesse; 340
For she it is that hath me done this wrong;
No nurse, but stepdame cruell, mercilesse.
Weepe, Shepheard! weepe, to make my undersong.
IV.
"My little flock, whom earst I lov'd so well,
And wont to feed with finest grasse that grew, 345
Feede ye hencefoorth on bitter astrofell*,
And stinking smallage, and unsaverie rew;
And when your mawes are with those weeds corrupted,
Be ye the pray of wolves; ne will I rew
That with your carkasses wild beasts be glutted. 350
[* _Astrofell_, (probably) starwort. See _Astrophel_, v. 184-196.]
"Ne worse to you, my sillie sheepe, I pray,
Ne sorer vengeance wish on you to fall
Than to my selfe, for whose confusde decay**
To carelesse heavens I doo daylie call;
But heavens refuse to heare a wretches cry; 355
And cruell Death doth scorn to come at call,
Or graunt his boone that most desires to dye.
[* _Decay_, destruction.
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