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For Corin was her only joy,
Who forst her not a pin.

How often would she flowers twine,
How often garlands make
Of cowslips and of columbine?
And all for Corin's sake.

But Corin he had hawks to lure,
And forsed more the field;
Of lover's law he took no cure,
For once he was beguiled.

Harpalus prevailed nought,

His labour all was lost;

For he was farthest from her thought,

And yet he lov'd her most.

Therefore wax'd he both pale and lean,

And dry as clot of clay;

His flesh it was consumed clean,

His colour gone away.

His beard it had not long been shave,

His hair hung all unkempt ; 2

1 Loved.

é Uncombed.

A man fit most for the grave,
Whom spiteful love had spent.

His eyes were red, and all fore-watch'd,1 His face besprent" with tears;

It seem'd unhap had him long hatch'd, In midst of his despairs.

His clothes were black, and also bare,
As one forlorn was he;
Upon his head always he ware
A wreath of willow tree.

His beasts he kept upon the hill,

And he sate in the dale;

And thus, with sighs and sorrows shrill,

He 'gan to tell his tale:

"O Harpalus! (thus would he say)

"Unhappiest under sun!

"The cause of thine unhappy day

66 By love was first begun.

"For thou went'st first by suit to seek "A tiger to make tame;

⚫ Overwatched, tired with watching. • Besprinkled.

"That sets not by thy love a leek, "But makes thy grief her game.

"As easy it were for to convert "The frost into the flame,

"As for to turn a froward heart,

"Whom thou so fain would'st frame.

"Corin he liveth careless,

"He leaps among the leaves; "He eats the fruits of thy redress,' "Thou reapst, he takes the sheaves.

My beasts, awhile your food refrain, "And hark your herdman's sound, "Whom spiteful love, alas! hath slain, "Through-girt with many a wound.

"O happy be ye, beastés wild,
"That here your pasture takes ;
"I see that ye be not beguil❜d,
"Of these your faithful makes.3

"The hart he feedeth by the hind,

"The buck hard by the doe,

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"The turtle-dove is not unkind

"To him that loves her so.

"But, welaway! that nature wrought “Thee, Phillida, so fair;

"For I may say that I have bought "Thy beauty all too dear!

"What reason is that cruelty

"With beauty should have part? "Or else that such great tyranny "Should dwell in woman's heart?

"O, Cupid, grant this my request,
"And do not stop thine ears,
"That she may feel within her breast,
"The pains of my despairs.

"Of Corin that is caréless

"That she may crave her fee,

"As I have done in great distress "That lov'd her faithfully.

"But since that I shall die her slave,

“Her slave and eke her thrall,

"Write you, my friends, upon my grave,

"This chance that is befall.

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"HERE LIETH UNHAPPY HARPALUS,

"WHOM CRUEL LOVE HATH SLAIN, "BY PHILLIDA UNJUSTLY THUS "MURDER'D WITH FALSE DISDAIN."

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