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Thus, in the net of my conceit,
I masked still among the sort
Of such as fed upon the bait

That Cupid laid for his disport;
And ever, as I saw them caught,
I them beheld and thereat laught.

Till at the length, when Cupid spied
My scornful will, and spiteful use,
And how I past not who was tied,
So that myself might still live loose;
He set himself to lie in wait,
And in my way he threw a bait.

Such one as Nature never made,

I dare well say, save she alone; Such one she was, as would invade

A heart more hard than marble stone;

Such one she is, I know it right,

Her Nature made to shew her might.

Then, as a man e'en in a maze,

When use of reason is away,

So I began to stare and gaze;
And suddenly, without delay,
Or ever I had the wit to look,
I swallow'd up both bait and hook.

Which daily grieves me more and more,
By sundry sorts of careful wo;
And none alive may salve the sore,
But only she that hurt me so;
In whom my life doth now consist,
To save or slay me, as she list.

Be

But seeing now that I am caught,
And bound so fast I cannot flee;
ye by mine ensample taught,
That in your fancies feel you free;
Despise not them that lovers are,
be caught within his snare.

Lest

you

The Lover not regarded in earnest suit, being become wiser, refuseth her proffered love.

Do 'way your physic, I faint no more;
The salve you sent, it comes too late;
You wist well all my grief before,

And what I suffer'd for your sake;
Whole is my heart, I plain no more,
A new the cure did undertake,
Wherefore do 'way, you come too late.

For whiles you knew I was your own,
So long in vain you made me gape,
And though my faith it were well known,
Yet small regard thou took thereat.
But, now the blast is over-blown,

Of vain physic a salve you shape,
Wherefore do 'way, you come too late.

How long, or this, have I been fain
Το gape for mercy at your gate,
Until the time I spied it plain
That Pity and you fell at debate.
For

my redress then was I fain

Your service clean for to forsake:

Wherefore do 'way, you come too late.

Harpalus' complaint of Phillida's love bestowed on Corin, who loved her not, and denied him that loved her.

PHILLIDA was a fair maid,

I

And fresh as any flower;

Whom Harpalus the herdman pray'd

To be his paramour.

So ed. I.-Ed. 1567, “ As.”

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And Phillida could twist and spin,
And thereto sing full clear.

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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 forced more the field;
Of lover's law he took no cure,
For once he was beguil'd.

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 clod of clay;

'Together.

* Loved.

His flesh it was consumed clean,

His colour gone away.

His beard it had not long been shave,
His hair hung all unkempt ; 1

A man most fit e'en for the grave,
Whom spiteful Love had spent.

2

His eyes were red, and all fore-watch'd, 3 His face besprent + with tears;

4

It seem'd unhap had him long hatch'd
In mids 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!

• Uncombed.

So ed. I.-Ed 1567, “shent.”

Overwatched, tired with watching.

* Besprinkled.

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