Farewell, Sweet Groves. 
By Wither, George. 


Farewell,
Sweet groves, to you;
You hills that highest dwell,
And all you humble vales, adieu.
You wanton brooks and solitary rocks,
My dear companions all, and you, my tender flocks!
Farewell, my pipe, and all those pleasing songs, whose moving strains
Delighted once the fairest nymphs that dance upon the plains;
You discontents, whose deep and over-deadly smart
Have without pity broke the truest heart;
Sighs, tears, and every sad annoy
That erst did with me dwell,
And all other's joys,
Farewell!

Adieu,
Fair shepherdesses:
Let garlands of sad yew
Adorn your dainty golden tresses.
I, that loved you, and often with my quill
Made music that delighted fountain, grove, and hill:
I, whom you loved so, and with a sweet and chaste embrace
(Yea, with a thousand rarer favours) would vouchsafe to grace,
I now must leave you all alone, of love to plain,
And never pipe, nor never sing again.
I must, for evermore, be gone,
And therefore bid I you,
And every one,
Adieu.