Dowland: First Booke Of Songes, 1597: 8. Burst Forth My Tears

Burst forth, my tears, assist my forward grief
And show what pain imperious Love provokes
Kind tender lambs, lament Love's scant relief
And pine, since pensive Care my freedom yokes
O pine to see me pine, my tender flocks

Sad, sad pining Care, that never may have peace
At Beauty's gate in hope of pity knocks
But Mercy sleeps while deep Disdain increase
And Beauty Hope in her fair bosom locks
O grieve to hear my grief, my tender flocks

Like, like to the winds my sighs have winged been
Yet are my sighs and suits repaid with mocks
I plead, yet she repineth at my teen
O ruthless rigour harder than the rocks
That both the shepherd kills and his poor flocks