"Where my high steeples whilom usde to stand, On which the lordly faulcon wont to towre, There now is but an heap of lyme and sand For the shriche-owle to build her balefull bowre: 130 And where the nightingale wont forth to powre Her restles plaints, to comfort wakefull lovers, There now haunt yelling mewes and whining plovers.

For damzels fit to decke their lovers bowres.

Walkt forth to ease my payne 10 Along the shoare of silver streaming Themmes; Whose rutty** bank, the which his river hemmes, Was paynted all with variable flowers, And all the meades adornd with dainty gemmes, Fit to decke maydens bowres, 15 And crowne their paramours Against the brydale day, which is not long@: Sweet Themmes!

I seeke the fields with her late footing synd; I seeke her bowre with her late presence deckt; Yet nor in field nor bowre I can her fynd, Yet field and bowre are full of her aspect.