For Corin was her only joy, Who forst' her not a pin. How often would she flowers twine, How often garlands make Of cowslips and of columbine ? And all for Corin's sake. But Corin he had hawks to lure, And forsed more the field; Of lover's law he took no cure, For once he was beguiled, Harpalus prevailed nought, His labour all was lost'; For he was farthest from her thought, And yet he lov'd her most. Therefore wax'd he both pale and lean, And dry as clot of clay; His colour gone away. His beard it had not long been shave, His hair hụng all unkempt ;2 A man fit most for the grave, , Whom spiteful love had spent. His eyes were red, and all fore-watch'd," His face besprentwith tears ; It seem'd unhap had him long hatch'd, In midst of his despairs. His clothes were black, and also bare, As one forlorn was he; Upon his head always he ware A wreath of willow tree, His beasts he kept upon the hill, And he sate in the dale ; And thus, with sighs and sorrows shrill, He 'gan to tell his tale: “O Harpalus ! (thus would he say) “ Unhappiest under sun! “ The cause of thine unhappy day “ By love was first begun. " For thon went'st first by suit to seek .“ A tiger to make tame; • Overwatched, tired with watching. • Besprinkled. “ That sets not by thy love a leek, “ But makes thy grief her game. “ As easy it were for to convert “ The frost into the flame, “ As for to turn a froward heart, “ Whom thou so fain would'st frame. “ Corin he liveth careless, “ He leaps among the leaves ; “ He eats the fruits of thy redress," « Thou reapst, he takes the sheaves. “ My beasts, awhile your food refrain, “ And hark your herdman's sound, “ Whom spiteful love, alas ! hath slain, “ Through-girta with many a wound. “O happy be ye, beastés wild, “ That here your pasture takes ; “ I see that ye be not beguild, “ Of these your faithful makes.3 " The hart he feedeth by the hind, “ The buck hard by the doe, · Labour. • Pierced-through. » Mates. “ The turtle-dove is not unkind 6 To him that loves her so. “ But, welaway! that nature wrought “ Thee, Phillida, so fair; “ Thy beauty all too dear! “ What reason is that cruelty “ With beauty should have part ? “ Or else that such great tyranny “ Should dwell in woman's heart? “0, Cupid, grant this my request, “ And do not stop thine cars, “ That she may feel within her breast, “ The pains of my despairs. “ Of Corin that is careless “ That she may crave her fee, “As I have done in great distress “ That lov'd her faithfully. “ But since that I shall die her slave, “ Her slave and eke her thrall, “ Write you, my friends, upon my grave, " This chance that is befall. VOL. II. |