HARPALUS' COMPLAINT OF PHILLIDA'S LOVE BESTOWED ON

CORIN, WHO LOVED HER NOT, AND DENIED HIM THAT LOVED HER.

1 Phillida was a fair maid,

As fresh as any flower;

Whom Harpalus the herdman pray'd
To be his paramour.

2 Harpalus, and eke Corin,

Were herdmen both yfere:1
And Phillida would twist and spin,
And thereto sing full clear.

3 But Phillida was all too coy
For Harpalus to win;
For Corin was her only joy,
Who forced her not a pin.

4 How often would she flowers twine,
How often garlands make
Of cowslips and of columbine,
And all for Corin's sake!

5 But Corin he had hawks to lure,
And forced more the field:
Of lovers' law he took no cure;
For once he was beguiled.

6 Harpalus prevailèd nought,

His labour all was lost;

For he was furthest from her thought,
And yet he loved her most.

'Yfere:' together.-Forced:' cared for.

7 Therefore was he both pale and lean,
And dry as clod of clay:

His flesh it was consumed clean;
His colour gone away.

8 His beard it not long be shave;
His hair hung all unkempt:
A man most fit even for the grave,
Whom spiteful love had shent.1

9 His eyes were red, and all forwacht; 2 His face besprent with tears:

It seem'd unhap had him long hatcht,
In midst of his despairs.

10 His clothes were black, and also bare;
As one forlorn was he;
Upon his head always he ware
A wreath of willow tree.

11 His beasts he kept upon the hill,
And he sat in the dale;

And thus with sighs and sorrows shrill
He 'gan to tell his tale.

12 'O Harpalus!' thus would he say;
'Unhappiest under sun!

The cause of thine unhappy day
By love was first begun.

13 For thou went'st first by suit to seek

A tiger to make tame,

That sets not by thy love a leek,
But makes thy grief a game.

1 'Shent:' spoiled.-2 Forwacht:' from much watching.

14 As easy it were for to convert

The frost into the flame;

As for to turn a froward hert,
Whom thou so fain wouldst frame.

15Ccrin he liveth careless:

He leaps among the leaves:
He eats the fruits of thy redress:
Thou reap'st, he takes the sheaves.

16 My beasts, a while your food refrain, And hark your herdman's sound; Whom spiteful love, alas! hath slain, Through girt with many a wound.

17 'O happy be ye, beastës wild, That here your pasture takes: I see that ye be not beguiled

Of these your faithful makes.”

18 The hart he feedeth by the hind: The buck hard by the doe:

The turtle-dove is not unkind

To him that loves her so.

19 'The ewe she hath by her the ram: The young cow hath the bull: The calf with many a lusty lamb Do feed their hunger full.

20 'But, well-a-way! that nature wroug Thee, Phillida, so fair:

For I may say that I have bought
Thy beauty all too dear.

1 'Makes:' mates.

21 What reason is that cruelty

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

Should dwell in woman's heart?

22 I see therefore to shape my death She cruelly is prest,

1

To the end that I may want my breath:
My days be at the best.

23 O Cupid, grant this my request,
And do not stop thine ears:
That she may feel within her breast
The pains of my despairs:

24 Of Corin that is careless,

That she may crave her fee:
As I have done in great distress,
That loved her faithfully.

25 '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:

26" Here lieth unhappy Harpalus,
By cruel love now slain:

Whom Phillida unjustly thus
Hath murder'd with disdain."

1Prest:' ready.

A PRAISE OF HIS LADY.

1 Give place, you ladies, and begone,
Boast not yourselves at all,
For here at hand approacheth one
Whose face will stain you all.

2 The virtue of her lively looks
Excels the precious stone;

I wish to have none other books
To read or look upon.

3 In each of her two crystal eyes
Smileth a naked boy;

It would you all in heart suffice
To see that lamp of joy.

4 I think Nature hath lost the mould
Where she her shape did take;
Or else I doubt if Nature could
So fair a creature make.

5 She may be well compared
Unto the phoenix kind,

Whose like was never seen nor heard,
That any man can find.

6 In life she is Diana chaste,
In truth Penelope ;

In word, and eke in deed, steadfast:
What will you more we say?

7 If all the world were sought so fai,
Who could find such a wight?
Her beauty twinkleth like a star
Within the frosty night.