Followe thy faire sunne unhappy shaddowe,
Though thou be blacke as night
And she made all of light,
Yet follow thy faire
sunne unhappie shaddowe.
Follow her whose light thy light depriveth,
Though here thou livst disgract,
And she in heaven is
plact,
Yet follow her whose light the world reviveth.
Follow those pure beams whose beautie burneth,
That so have scorched
thee,
As thou still blacke must bee,
Til her kind beames thy black to brightnes turneth.
Follow her while yet her glorie
shineth,
There comes a luckles night,
That will dim all her light,
And this the black unhappie shade devineth.
Follow
still since so thy fates ordained,
The sunne must have his shade,
Till both at once doe fade,
The sun still provd the shadow
still disdained.
[Adapted from Thomas Campions "Followe thy faire sunne unhappy shaddowe" - 1601]
