The coney hath his cave, The little bird his nest, From heat and cold themselves to save, The owl, with feeble sight, Lies lurking in the leaves; But, woe to me, alas! In sun, nor yet in shade, The Lover, that once disdained love, is now become subject, being caught in his snare. [The couplet printed in italics, is said to have been written by Queen Mary, on a window of Fotheringay Castle.] To this my song give ear who list, And mine intent judge as you will; The time is come that I have miss'd The thing whereon I hoped still; And, from the top of all my trust Mishap hath thrown me in the dust. The time hath been, and that of late, Of love's desire, nor took no charge As touching love, in any pain. My thought was free, my heart was light, I forced not who wept, who laught; I took no heed to taunts nor toys, As lief to see them frown as smile; Where fortune laugh'd I scorn'd their joys, I found their frauds, and every wile; And to myself ofttimes I smiled, To see how love had them beguiled. Thus, in the net of my conceit, I masked still among the sort That Cupid laid for his disport; Till at the end, when Cupid spied So that myself might still live loose; Such one as Nature never made, I dare well say, save her alone; Such one she was as would invade A heart more hard than marble stone; Such one she is, I know it right, Her Nature made to shew her might. Then, as a man even in a maze, When use of reason is away, So I began to stare and gaze; Which daily grieves me more and more, But seeing now that I am caught, That in your fancies feel you free; The Lover not regarded in earnest suit, being become wiser, refuseth his proffered love. [Abridged from 35 lines.] Do 'way your physick, I faint no more; e; And what I suffer'd for your sake For whiles you knew I was your own, Of vaine physick a salve you shape, How long, ere this, have I been fain That pity and you fell at debate. Your service clean for to forsake: Wherefore do 'way, you come too late. Harpalus' complaint of Phillida's love bestowed on Corin, who loved her not, and denied him that loved her. [Abridged from 104 lines.] PHILLIDA was a fair maid, Whom Harpalus the herdman pray'd Harpalus, and eke Corín, Were herdmen both yfere;1 And Phillida could twist and spin, |