Go, my flock, go get you hence, for voice and orpharion

Go my flock, go get you hence,
Seek a better place of feeding,
Where you may have some defence
From the storms in my breast breeding,
And showers from my eyes proceeding.

Leave a wretch, in whom all woe
Can abide to keep no measure,
Merry flock, such one forego,
Unto whom mirth is displeasure,
Only rich in mischief’s treasure.

Yet alas, before you go,
Hear your woeful master’s story,
Which to stones I else would show:
Sorrow only then hath glory
When ’tis excellently sorry.

Stella, fiercest shepherdess,
Fiercest but yet fairest ever;
Stella, whom O heav’ns do bless,
Though against me she persevere,
Though I bliss inherit never.

Stella hath refused me,
Stella, who more love hath proved
In this caitiff heart to be,
Than can in good ewes be moved
Toward lambkins best beloved.

Stella hath refused me,
Astrophil, that so well served,
In this pleasant spring must see,
While in pride flowers be preserved,
Himself only winter-starved.

Why alas doth she then swear
That she loveth me so dearly,
Seeing me so long to bear
Coals of love that burn so clearly;
And yet leave me helpless merely?

Is that love? Forsooth, I trow,
If I saw my good dog grieved,
And a help for him did know,
My love should not be believed
But he were by me relieved.

No, she hates me, wellaway,
Feigning love, somewhat to please me:
For she knows, if she display
All her hate, death soon would seize me
And of hideous torments ease me.

Then adieu, dear flock, adieu:
But alas, if in your straying
Heavenly Stella meet with you,
Tell her in your piteous blaying,
Her poor slave’s unjust decaying.