These waves no way in her to sink can find
To penetrate the pith of contemplation;
These tears cannot dissolve her hardened mind,
Nor move her heart on me to take compassion;
O then, poor Corin, scorned and quite despised,
Loathe now to live since life procures thy woe;
Enough, thou hast thy heart anatomised,
For her sweet sake which will no pity show;
But as cold winter's storms and nipping frost
Can never change sweet Aramanthus' hue,
So though my love and life by her are crossed.
My heart shall still be constant firm and true.
Although Erynnis hinders Hymen's rites,
My fixèd faith against oblivion fights.
XXXII
My fixèd faith against oblivion fights,
And I cannot forget her, pretty elf,
Although she cruel be unto my plights;
Yet let me rather clean forget myself,
Then her sweet name out of my mind should go,
Which is th' elixir of my pining soul,
From whence the essence of my life doth flow,
Whose beauty rare my senses all control;
Themselves most happy evermore accounting,
That such a nymph is queen of their affection,
With ravished rage they to the skies are mounting,
Esteeming not their thraldom nor subjection;
But still do joy amidst their misery,
With patience bearing love's captivity.
XXXIII
With patience bearing love's captivity,
Themselves unguilty of his wrath alleging;
These homely lines, abjects of poesy,
For liberty and for their ransom pledging,
And being free they solemnly do vow,
Under his banner ever arms to bear
Against those rebels which do disallow
That love of bliss should be the sovereign heir;
And Chloris if these weeping truce-men may
One spark of pity from thine eyes obtain,
In recompense of their sad heavy lay,
Poor Corin shall thy faithful friend remain;
And what I say I ever will approve,
No joy may be comparèd to thy love!
XXXIV
The bird of Thrace which doth bewail her rape,
And murthered Itys eaten by his sire,
When she her woes in doleful tunes doth shape,
She sets her breast against a thorny briar;
Because care-charmer sleep should not disturb
The tragic tale which to the night she tells,
She doth her rest and quietness thus curb
Amongst the groves where secret silence dwells:
Even so I wake, and waking wail all night;
Chloris' unkindness slumbers doth expel;
I need not thorn's sweet sleep to put to flight,
Her cruelty my golden rest doth quell,
That day and night to me are always one,
Consumed in woe, in tears, in sighs and moan.
XXXV
Like to the shipman in his brittle boat.
Tossèd aloft by the unconstant wind,
By dangerous rocks and whirling gulfs doth float,
Hoping at length the wishèd port to find;
So doth my love in stormy billows sail,
And passeth the gaping Scilla's waves,
In hope at length with Chloris to prevail
And win that prize which most my fancy craves,
Which unto me of value will be more
Then was that rich and wealthy golden fleece.
Which Jason stout from Colchos' island bore
With wind in sails unto the shore of Greece.
More rich, more rare, more worth her love I prize
Then all the wealth which under heaven lies.
XXXVI