A LOVER TO HIS MISTRESS. Do 'way your phyfick, I faint no more; And what I fuffer'd for your fake; For whilft you knew I was your own, But, now the blaft is over-blown Of vaine phyfick, a falve you shape, How long, ere this, have I been fain Το gape for mercy at your gate, Until the time I fpied it plain For That pity and you fell at debate. my redress then was I fain Your fervice clean for to forfake; Wherefore do 'way-you come too late. HARPALUS AND PHILLIDA. PHILLIDA was a fair maid, Whom Harpalus the herdsman pray'd To be her paramour. Harpalus, and eke Corin, But Phillida was all too coy How often would fhe flowers twine, How often garlands make Of cowflips and of Columbine? And all for Corin's fake. But Corin he had hawks to lure, And forfed more the field; Of lover's law he took no cure, Harpalus prevailed nought, His labour all was loft; For he was farthest from her thought, Therefore wax'd he both pale and lean, And dry as clot of clay; His flesh it was confumed clean, His colour gone away. His beard it had not long be shave, His eyes were red, and all fore-watch'd,+ It seem'd unhap had him long hatch'd, 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 fate in the dale; And thus, with fighs and forrows fhrill, He 'gan to tell his tale: Uncombed. † Overwatched, tired with watching. Befprinkled. "O Harpalus! (this would he fay) Unhappiest under fun! "The cause of thine unhappy day By love was firft begun. "For thou went'st first by suit to seek "A tiger to make tame; "That fets not by thy love a leek, “But makes thy grief her game. "As eafy it were to convert "The froft into the flame, "As for to turn a froward heart, "Whom thou so fain would'st frame. "Corin he liveth carélefs, "He leaps among the leaves; "He eats the fruits of thy redress,* "Thou reaps, he takes the sheaves. "My beafts, awhile your food refrain, "And hark your herdsman's found, "Whom spiteful love, alas! hath slain, "Through-girt + with many a wound. "O happy be ye, beastés wild, * Labour. + Pierced through. Mates. Ꭰ "The hart he feedeth by the hind, "But, welaway! that nature wrought "Thee, Phillida, fo fair; "For I may fay that I have bought ? "What reason is that cruelty "O, Cupid, grant this my request, "And do not ftop thine ears, "That she may feel within her breast "The pains of my despairs. "Of Corin that is carélefs "That she may crave her fee, “As I have done in great distress "That lov'd her faithfully. "But fince that I fhall die her flave, "Her flave and eke her thrall, "Write you, my friends, upon my grave, "This chance that is befall. |