SONNET XX.
YE wasteful woods, bear witness of my woe! Wherein my plaints did oftentimes abound. Ye, careless birds, my sorrows well do know! They, in your songs, were wont to make a sound. Thou, pleasant spring, canst record likewise bear. Of my designs and sad disparagement! When thy transparent billows mingled were With those downfalls which from mine eyes were sent. The echo of my still-lamenting cries, From hollow vaults, in treble voice resoundeth; And then into the empty air it flies, And back again from whence it came reboundeth. That Nymph, unto my clamours doth reply, "Being likewise scorned in love, as well as I."
SONNET XXI.
"BEing likewise scorned in love as well as I" By that self-loving Boy; which did disdain To hear her, after him for love to cry: For which in dens obscure she doth remain. Yet doth she answer to each speech and word And renders back the last of what we speak. But 'specially, if she might have her choice, She of "Unkindness" would her talk forth break. She loves to hear of Love's most sacred name; Although, poor Nymph, in love she was despised: And ever since she hides her head for shame, That her true meaning was so lightly prized. She, pitying me, part of my woes doth hear; As you, good Shepherds, list'ning now shall hear.