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.1

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 wrought 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:

24Of 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:

6.66

26 Here lieth unhappy Harpalus,

By cruel love now slain:
Whom Phillida unjustly thus
Hath murder'd with disdain."

1 Prest:' 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 far,
Who could find such a wight?
Her beauty twinkleth like a star
Within the frosty night.

8 Her rosial colour comes and With such a comely grace,

goes

More ruddier, too, than doth the rose,
Within her lively face.

9 At Bacchus' feast none shall her meet, Nor at no wanton play,

Nor gazing in an open street,
Nor gadding, as astray.

10 The modest mirth that she doth use,
Is mix'd with shamefastness;
All vice she doth wholly refuse,
And hateth idleness.

11 O Lord, it is a world to see
How virtue can repair,

And deck in her such honesty,
Whom Nature made so fair.

12 Truly she doth as far exceed
Our women now-a-days,
As doth the gilliflower a weed,
And more a thousand ways.

13 How might I do to get a graff
Of this unspotted tree?

For all the rest are plain but chaff
Which seem good corn to be.

14 This gift alone I shall her give,

When death doth what he can:
Her honest fame shall ever live

Within the mouth of man.

THAT ALL THINGS SOMETIME FIND EASE OF THEIR PAIN, SAVE

ONLY THE LOVER.

1 I see there is no sort

Of things that live in grief,

Which at sometime may not resort
Where as they have relief.

2 The stricken deer by kind
Of death that stands in awe,
For his recure an herb can find
The arrow to withdraw.

3 The chased deer hath soil
To cool him in his heat;
The ass, after his weary toil,
In stable is up set.

4 The coney hath its cave,

The little bird his nest,

From heat and cold themselves to save

At all times as they list.

5 The owl, with feeble sight,
Lies lurking in the leaves,
The sparrow in the frosty night
May shroud her in the eaves.

6 But woe to me, alas!

In sun nor yet in shade,
I cannot find a resting-place,
My burden to unlade.