3 But Phillida was all too coy
For Harpalus to win;
For Corin was her only joy,
Who forced[2] her not a pin.
4 How often would she flowers twine,
How often garlands make
Of cowslips and of columbine,
And all for Conn's sake!
5 But Corin he had hawks to lure,
And forced more the field:
Of lovers' law he took no cure;
For once he was beguiled.
6 Harpalus prevailed nought,
His labour all was lost;
For he was furthest from her thought,
And yet he loved her most.
7 Therefore was he both pale and lean,
And dry as clod of clay:
His flesh it was consumed clean;
His colour gone away.
8 His beard it not long be shave;
His hair hung all unkempt:
A man most fit even for the grave,
Whom spiteful love had shent.[3]
9 His eyes were red, and all forwacht;[4]
It seem'd unhap had him long hatcht,
His face besprent with tears:
In midst of his despairs.
10 His clothes were black, and also bare;
As one forlorn was he;
Upon his head always he ware
A wreath of willow tree.
11 His beasts he kept upon the hill,
And he sat in the dale;
And thus with sighs and sorrows shrill
He 'gan to tell his tale.
12 'O Harpalus!' thus would he say;
Unhappiest under sun!
The cause of thine unhappy day
By love was first begun.