Song 1. [The Spring now come at last]
The Spring now come at last
To Trees, Fields, to Flowres,
And Meadowes makes to taste
His pride, while sad showres
Which from mine eyes doe flow
Makes knowne with cruell paines,
Cold Winter yet remaines,
No signe of Springe wee knowe.
The Sunne which to the Earth
Gives heate, light, and pleasure,
Joyes in Spring hateth Dearth,
Plenty makes his Treasure.
His heate to me is colde,
His light all darknesse is,
Since I am barrd of blisse,
I heate nor light behold.
A Shepherdesse thus said,
Who was with griefe opprest,
For truest Love betrayd,
Barrd her from quiet rest:
And weeping thus, said shee,
My end approacheth neere,
Now Willow must I weare,
My Fortune so will bee.
With Branches of this tree
Ile dresse my haplesse head,
Which shall my witnesse bee,
My hopes in Love are dead:
My cloathes imbroder’d all,
Shall be with Garlands round,
Some scatter’d, others bound;
Some tyde, some like to fall.
The Barke my Booke shall bee,
Where dayly I will write,
This tale of haples mee,
True slave to Fortunes spite.
The roote shall be my bedd,
Where nightly I will lye
Wailing inconstancy,
Since all true love is dead.
And these Lines I will leave,
If some such Lover come,
Who may them right conceive,
and place them on my Tombe:
She who still constant lov’d
Now dead with cruell care,
Kill’d with unkind Dispaire,
And change, her end heere prov’d.
Line 23. Willow: emblematic of grief and loss.
