The Shepheardes Calendar XII: December Edmund Spenser

The gentle Shepherd sate besides a Spring:
All in the Shadow of a bushy Brere,
That Colin hight, which well could pipe and sing,
For he of Tityrus his Songs did lere:
There as he sate in secret Shade alone,
Thus 'gan he make of Love his piteous Moan.

O sovereign Pan! thou God of Shepherds all,
Which of our tender Lambkins takest keep;
And when our flocks into mischance mought fall,
Do'st save from mischief the unwary Sheep:
Als of their Maisters hast no less regard
Than of the Flocks, which thou dost watch and ward!

I thee beseech (so be thou deign to hear
Rude Ditties tun'd to Shepherd's Oaten Reed,
Or if I ever Sonnet sung so clear,
As it with pleasaunce mought thy Fancy feed)
Hearken awhile from thy green Cabinet,
The lawrel Song of careful Colinet.

Whilom in Youth, when flowr'd my youthful Spring,
Like Swallow swift, I wandred here and there;
For Heat of heedless Lust me so did sting,
That I oft doubted Danger had no Fear:
I went the wastful Woods and Forrest wide,
Withouten dread of Wolves to been espide.