Sonnet XV. These weeping Truce-men shew I living languish

William Smith (fl. 1596)

THESE weeping Truce-men shew I living languish;

My woeful wailings tell my discontent:

Yet CHLORIS nought esteemeth of mine anguish;

My thrilling throbs, her heart cannot relent.

My kids to hear the rhymes and roundelays,

Which I, on wasteful hills, was wont to sing,

Did more delight than lark in summer days:

Whole echo made the neighbour groves to ring.

But now my flock, all drooping, bleats and cries;

Because my Pipe, the author of their sport,

All rent, and torn, and unrespected, lies:

Their lamentations do my cares consort.

They cease to feed, and listen to the plaint;

Which I pour forth unto a cruel Saint.