VII
What need I mourn, seeing Pan our sacred king
Was of that nymph fair Syrinx coy disdained?
The world's great light which comforteth each thing,
All comfortless for Daphne's sake remained.
If gods can find no help to heal the sore
Made by love's shafts, which pointed are with fire,
Unhappy Corin, then thy chance deplore,
Sith they despair by wanting their desire.
I am not Pan though I a shepherd be,
Yet is my love as fair as Syrinx was.
My songs cannot with Phœbus' tunes agree,
Yet Chloris' doth his Daphne's far surpass.
How much more fair by so much more unkind,
Than Syrinx coy, or Daphne, I her find!
VIII
No sooner had fair Phœbus trimmed his car,
Being newly risen from Aurora's bed,
But I in whom despair and hope did war,
My unpenned flock unto the mountains led.
Tripping upon the snow-soft downs I spied
Three nymphs more fairer than those beautys three
Which did appear to Paris on mount Ide.
Coming more near, my goddess I there see;
For she the field-nymphs oftentimes doth haunt,
To hunt with them the fierce and savage boar;
And having sported virelays they chaunt,
Whilst I unhappy helpless cares deplore.
There did I call to her, ah too unkind!
But tiger-like, of me she had no mind.
IX
Unto the fountain where fair Delia chaste
The proud Acteon turnèd to a hart,
I drove my flock, that water sweet to taste,
'Cause from the welkin Phœbus 'gan depart.
There did I see the nymph whom I admire,
Rememb'ring her locks, of which the yellow hue
Made blush the beauties of her curlèd wire,
Which Jove himself with wonder well might view;
Then red with ire, her tresses she berent,
And weeping hid the beauty of her face,
Whilst I amazèd at her discontent,
With tears and sighs do humbly sue for grace;
But she regarding neither tears nor moan,
Flies from the fountain leaving me alone.
X
Am I a Gorgon that she doth me fly,
Or was I hatchèd in the river Nile?
Or doth my Chloris stand in doubt that I
With syren songs do seek her to beguile?
If any one of these she can object
'Gainst me, which chaste affected love protest,
Then might my fortunes by her frowns be checked,
And blameless she from scandal free might rest.
But seeing I am no hideous monster born,
But have that shape which other men do bear,
Which form great Jupiter did never scorn,
Amongst his subjects here on earth to wear,
Why should she then that soul with sorrow fill,
Which vowèd hath to love and serve her still?
XI
Tell me, my dear, what moves thy ruthless mind
To be so cruel, seeing thou art so fair?
Did nature frame thy beauty so unkind?
Or dost thou scorn to pity my despair?
O no, it was not nature's ornament,
But wingèd love's unpartial cruel wound,
Which in my heart is ever permanent,
Until my Chloris make me whole and sound.
O glorious love-god, think on my heart's grief;
Let not thy vassal pine through deep disdain;
By wounding Chloris I shall find relief,
If thou impart to her some of my pain.
She doth thy temples and thy shrines abject;
They with Amintas' flowers by me are decked.