Good Muse, rock me asleep <br />With some sweet harmony; <br />The weary eye is not to keep <br />Thy wary company. <br /> <br />Sweet Love, begone awhile, <br />Thou knowest my heaviness; <br />Beauty is born but to beguile <br />My heart of happiness. <br /> <br />See how my little flock, <br />That loved to feed on high, <br />Do headlong tumble down the rock, <br />And in the valley die. <br /> <br />The bushes and the trees <br />That were so fresh and green, <br />Do all their dainty colour leese, <br />And not a leaf is seen. <br /> <br />The blackbird and the thrush <br />That made the woods to ring, <br />With all the rest are now at hush, <br />And not a note they sing. <br /> <br />Sweet Philomel, the bird <br />That hath the heavenly throat, <br />Doth now, alas! not once afford <br />Recording of a note. <br /> <br />The flowers have had a frost, <br />Each herb hath lost her savour, <br />And Phyllida the fair hath lost <br />The comfort of her favour. <br /> <br />Now all these careful sights <br />So kill me in conceit, <br />That now to hope upon delights, <br />It is but mere deceit. <br /> <br />And therefore, my sweet Muse, <br />Thou knowest what help is best; <br />Do now thy heavenly cunning use, <br />To set my heart at rest. <br /> <br />And in a dream bewray <br />What fate shall be my friend, <br />Whether my life shall still decay, <br />Or when my sorrow end.<br /><br />Nicholas Breton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-sweet-pastoral/
