X.
PHɶbus had once a bird, his chief delight, Which, only 'cause he had an evil tongue, He made him black; who was before most white. So if all those who, Lovers true have stung With spiteful speech, and have their loves betrayed; Or to their Ladies false be and untrue, Setting at nought the promise they have made; Love would but change into this coal-black hue: Thousands abroad, like sea-coal crows should show; Who, now unknown, for snowy swans do go.
XI.
IN silver stream, on shallow fountain's shelf, The lively image saw he in the same; Who was in love with shadow of himself: Through pride forgetful how his likeness came. Such one myself, by chance, I see to be; When as in river I myself did see: Yet I myself, instead of loving, hate. And such strange hatred is this, and so strong; That while he, loving, died by justest Fate, Himself by seeing, whilst he himself did wrong: I die will unto him contrary clean; 'Cause I, hating myself, myself too much have seen.
XII.