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Harpalus complaynt on Phillidaes loue bestowed on Corin,
who loued her not, and denyed him that loued her.
Phillida was a faire mayde,as fresh as any flower:
Whom Harpalus the Heards-man prayde
to be his Paramour.
Harpalus and eke Corin,
were Heard-men both yfere:
And Phillida could twist and spinne,
and thereto sing full cleere.
But Phillida was all too coy,
for Harpalus to winne:
For Corin was her onely ioy,
who forc'd her not a pinne.
How often would she flowers twine,
how often garlands make:
Of Cowslips and of Cullumbine,
and all for Corins sake?
But Corin he had Hawkes to lure,
and forced more the field:
Of Louers law he tooke no cure,
for once he was beguild.
Harpalus preuailed naught,
his labour all was lost:
For he was furthest from her thought,
and yet he lou'd her most.
and drye as clod of clay:
His flesh it was consumed cleane,
his colour gone away.
His beard it had not long beene shaue,
his haire hung all vnkempt:
A man most fit euen for the graue,
whom spitefull Loue had spent.
His eyes were red and all fore-watcht,
his face besprent with teares:
It seem'd vnhap had him long hatcht,
in midst of his dispaires.
His cloathes were blacke and also bare,
as one forlorne was hee:
Vpon his head he alwayes ware
a wreath of Willow-tree.
His beasts he kept vpon the hill,
and he sate in the Dale:
And thus with sighs and sorrowes shrill,
he gan to tell his tale.
Oh Harpalus, thus would he say,
vnhappiest vnder Sunne:
The cause of thine vnhappy day,
by loue was first begun.
For thou went'st first by sute to seeke,
a Tyger to make tame:
That sets not by thy loue a Leeke,
but makes thy greefe a game.
As easie were it to conuert
the frost into a flame:
As for to turne a froward hart
whom thou so faine wouldst frame.
Corin, he liueth carelesse,
he leapes among the leaues:
He eates the fruites of thy redresse,
thou reap'st, he takes the sheaues.
My beasts a-while your food refraine,
and harke your Heard-mans sound:
through-girt with many a wound.
Oh happy be ye beasts wild,
that heere your pasture takes:
I see that ye be not beguild,
of these your faithfull makes.
The Hart he feedeth by the Hind,
the Backe hard by the Doe:
The Turtle-Doue is not vnkind
to him that loues her so.
The Ewe she hath by her the Ram,
the young Cowe hath the Bull:
The Calfe with many a lusty Lamb,
doo feede their hunger full.
But well-away that Nature wrought,
thee Phillida so faire:
For I may say that I haue bought
thy beauty all too deare.
What reason is't that cruelty
with beauty should haue part?
Or else that such great tirannie,
should dwell in vvomans hart?
I see therefore to shape my death,
she cruelly is prest:
To th'end that I may want my breath,
my dayes beene at the best.
Oh Cupid graunt this my request,
and doo not stop thine eares:
That she may feele within her brest,
the paine of my despaires.
Of Corin that is carelesse,
that she may craue her fee:
As I haue done in great distresse,
that lou'd her faithfully.
But since that I shall die her slaue,
her slaue and eke her thrall:
Write you my friends vpon my graue,
this chaunce that is befall.
by cruell Loue now slaine:
Whom Phillida vniustly thus,
hath murdred with disdaine.
FINIS.
L. T. Haward, Earle of Surrie.
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