"This place is Ominous, for here I lost My Love and almost life, and since have crost All these Woods over, never a Nook or Dell, Where any little Bird, or Beast doth dwell, But I have sought him, never a bending brow Of any Hill or Glade, the wind sings through, Nor a green bank, nor shade where Shepherds use To sit and Riddle, sweetly pipe, or chuse Their Valentines, that I have mist, to find My love in. Perigot, Oh too unkind, Why hast thou fled me? whither art thou gone? How have I wrong'd thee? was my love alone To thee worthy this scorn'd recompence? 'tis well, I am content to feel it: but I tell Thee Shepherd, and these lusty woods shall hear, Forsaken Amoret is yet as clear Of any stranger fire, as Heaven is From foul corruption, or the deep Abysse From light and happiness; ..."