Page images

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 flesh it was consumed clean,

His colour gone away.

His beard it had not long been shave,

His hair hung all unkempt ;?

· Loved.

é Uncombed.

A man fit most for the grave,

Whom spiteful love had spent.

His eyes were red, and all fore-watch'd,"

His face besprent” with 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

6 By love was first begun.

" For thou 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 caréless,

“ 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.

6 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

66 To him that loves her so.

“But, welaway! that nature wrought

“ Thee, Phillida, so fair;
“ For I may say that I have bought

“Thy beauty all too dear!

6 What reason is that cruelty

“ With beauty should have part ? 66 Or else that such great tyranny

“ Should dwell in woman's heart?

O, 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.


« PreviousContinue »