WHen Chloris first, with her heart-robbing eye, Enchanted had my silly senses all; I little did respect Love's cruelty: I never thought his snares should me enthrall. But since her tresses have entangled me, My pining flock did never hear me sing Those jolly notes, which erst did make them glee; Nor do my kids about me leap and spring As they were wont: but when they hear my cry; They likewise cry, and fill the air with bleating. Then do my sheep upon the cold earth lie, And feed no more. My griefs they are repeating. O Chloris, if thou then sawest them and me, I am sure thou would'st both pity them and me!
SONNET XLVII.
BUt of thy heart too cruel I thee tell, Which hath tormented my young budding age; And doth, (unless your mildness, passions quell) My utter ruin near at hand presage. Instead of blood, which wont was to display His ruddy red upon my hairless face; By over-grieving, that is fled away: Pale dying colour there hath taken place. Those curlèd locks, which thou wast wont to twist, Unkempt, unshorn, and out of order been; Since my disgrace, I had of them no list. Since when, these eyes no joyful day have seen: Nor never shall, till you renew again The mutual love which did possess us twain.
SONNET XLVIII.
