So far from my delight what cares torment me, Fields do record it and valleys and woods and mountains, And running rivers and reposed fountains, Where I cry out, and to the heav'ns lament me None other sounds but tunes of my complaining. Nymph of the groves of pleasant birds once heareth Still recount I my grief and her disdaining To ev'ry plant that groweth or blossom beareth.