CHLORIS, or THE COMPLAINT of the passionate despised Shepherd.  
By William Smith.  
Imprinted at London, by Edm. Bollifant. 1596.   

TO THE MOST EXCELLENT and learned Shepherd Collen Cloute.  

COllin my dear and most entire beloved,  
My muse audacious stoops her pitch to thee,  
Desiring that thy patience be not moved  
By these rude lines, written here you see,  
Feign would my muse whom cruel love hath wronged,  
Shrowded her love-labors under thy protection,  
And I myself with ardent zeal have longed,  
That thou mightst know to thee my true affection.  
Therefore good Collen, graciously accept  
A few sad sonnets, which my muse hath framed,  
Though they but newly from the shell are crept,  
Suffer them not by envy to be blamed.  
But underneath the shadow of thy wings,  
Give warmth to these yong-hatched orphan things.   

Give warmth to these yoong-hatched orphan things,  
Which chill with cold to thee for succour creep,  
They of my study are the budding springs,  
Longer I cannot them in silence keep.  
They will be gadding sore against my mind.  
But courteous shepherd, if they run astray  
Conduct them, that they may the path way find,  
And teach them how, the mean observe they may.  
Thou shalt them ken by their discording notes,  
Their weeds are plain, such as poor shepherds wear.  
Unshapen, torn, and ragged are their coats,  
Yet forth they wandering are devoid of fear.  
They which have tasted of the muse's spring,  
I hope will smile upon the tunes they sing.   
Finis.  
W. Smith.   

To all Shepherds in general.  

YOu whom the world admires for rarest style,  
You which have sung the sonnets of true love:  
Upon my maiden verse with savour smile▪  
Whose weak penned muse to fly too soon doth prove,  
Before her feathers have their full perfection,  
She soars aloft pricked on by blind affection.   

You whose deep wits, engine, and industry,  
The everlasting palm of praise have won,  
You Parragons of learned Poesy,  
Favour these mists, which fall before your sun,  
Intentions leading to a more effect,  
If you them grace but with your mild aspect.   

And thou the Genius of my ill tuned note,  
Whose beauty urged hath my rustic vain,  
Through mighty Oceans of despair to float,  
That I in rhyme thy cruelty complain:  
Vouchsafe to read these lines both harsh and bad,  
Nuntiates of woe with sorrow being clad.   
W. Smith.   

Sonnet 1.  
Courteous Calliope, vouchsafe to lend  
Thy helping hand to my vntuned song,  
And grace these lines, which I to write pretend,  
Compelled by love, which doth poor Corin wrong.  
And those thy sacred sisters I beseech,  
Which on Parnassaes mount do ever dwell,  
To shield my country muse and rural speech,  
By their divine authority and spell.  
Lastly to thee o Pan, the shepherds King,  
And you swift footed Dryads I call:  
Attend to hear a swain in verse to sing  
Sonnets of her that keeps his heart in thrall:  
O Chloris weigh the task I undertake,  
Thy beauty subject of my song I make.   

Sonnet 2.  
Thy beauty, subject of my song I make,  
O fairest fair, on whom depends my life,  
Refuse not then the task I undertake,  
To please thy rage, and to appease my strife.  
But with one smile remunerate my toil,  
None other guerdon, I of thee desire.  
Give not my lowly muse new-hatcht the foil,  
But warmth that she may at the length aspire  
Unto the temples of thy star-bright eyes,  
Upon whose round orbs perfect beauty sits;  
From whence such glorious crystal beams arise,  
As best my Chloris seemly face befits.  
Which eyes, which beauty, which bright crystal beam,  
Which face of thine hath made my love extreme.   

Sonnet 3.  
Feed silly sheep although your keeper pineth,  
Yet like to Tantalus doth see his food.  
Skip you and leap, now bright Apollo shineth,  
Whilst I bewail my sorrows in yond wood.  
Where woeful Philomela doth record,  
And sings with notes of sad and dire lament,  
The tragedy wrought by her sister's Lord,  
I'll bear a part in her black discontent.  
That pipe which erst was wont to make you glee,  
Upon these downs whereon you careless graze,  
Shall to her mournful music tuned be.  
Let not my plaints poor lambkins you amaze.  
There underneath that dark and dusky bower,  
Whole showers of tears to Chloris I will power.   

Sonnet 4.  
Whole showers of tears to Chloris I will power,  
As true oblations of my sincere love,  
If that will not suffice most fairest flower,  
Then shall my sighs thee unto pity move.  
If neither tears nor sighs can ought prevail,  
My streaming blood thine anger shall appease,  
This hand of mine by vigour shall assail,  
To tear my heart asunder thee to please.  
Celestial powers on you I invocate,  
You know the chaste affections of my mind,  
I never did my faith yet violate,  
Why should my Chloris then be so unkind?  
That neither tears, nor sighs, nor streaming blood,  
Can unto mercy move her cruel mood.   

Sonnet 5.  
You Fawns and Siluans, when my Chloris brings  
Her flocks to water in your pleasant plains,  
Solicit her to pity corin's stings,  
The smart whereof for her he still sustains.  
For she is ruthless of my woeful song.  
My oaten reed she not delights to hear.  
O Chloris, Chloris, Corine thou dost wrong,  
Who loves thee better than his own heart dear.  
The flames of Aetna are not half so hot,  
As is the fire which thy disdain hath bred.  
Ah cruel fates, why do you then besot  
Poor corin's soul with love when love is fled.  
Either cause cruel Chloris to relent,  
Or let me die upon the wound she sent.   

Sonnet 6.  
You lofty Pines copartners of my woe,  
When Chloris sitteth underneath your shade,  
To her those sighs and tears I pray you sho,  
Whilst you attending I for her have made.  
Whilst you attending, dropped have sweet balm,  
In token that you pity my distress,  
Zephyrus hath your stately boughs made calm.  
Whilst I to you my sorrows did express.  
The neighbour mountains bended have their tops,  
When they have heard my rueful melody,  
And Elves in rings about me leaps and hops,  
To frame my passions to their jollity.  
Resounding Echoes from their obscure caves,  
Reiterate what most my fancy craves.   

Sonnet 7.  
What need I mourn? seeing Pan our sacred King  
Was of that nymph fair Syrinx coy disdained,  
The world's great light which comforteth each thing,  
All comfortless for Daphne's sake remained.  
If gods can find no help to heal the sore  
Made by loves shafts, which pointed are with fire.  
Unhappy Corine then thy chance deplore,  
Sith they despair by wanting their desire.  
I am not Pan though I a shepherd be,  
Yet is my love as fair as Syrinx was.  
My songs cannot with Phoebus' tunes agree,  
Yet Chloris doth his Daphne's far surpas.  
How much more fair by so much more unkind,  
Than Syrinx coy, or Daphne's I her find.   

Sonnet 8.  
No sooner had fair Phoebus trimmed his car,  
Being newly risen from Aurora's bed,  
But I in whom despair and hope did war,  
My unpenned flock unto the mountains led.  
Tripping upon the snow soft downs I spied  
Three nymphs more fairer than those beauties three,  
Which did appear to Paris on mount Ide,  
Coming more near my goddess I there see.  
For she the field nymphs oftentimes doth haunt,  
To hunt with them the fierce and savage boar,  
And having sported virelays they chant,  
Whilst I unhappy helpless cares deplore.  
There did I call to her, ah too unkind,  
But tiger like, of me she had no mind.   

Sonnet 9  
Unto the fountain where fair Delila chaste  
The proud Actaeon turned to a Hart  
I drove my flock that water sweet to taste,  
'Cause from the welkin Phoebus 'gan departed.  
There did I see the nymph whom I admire.  
Remembering her locks, of which the yellow hue:  
Made blush the beauties of her curled wire,  
Which jove himself with wonder well might view.  
Then red withire, her tresses she berent,  
And weeping hid the beauty of her face:  
Whilst I amazed, at her discontent  
With tears and sighs do humbly sue for grace:  
But she regarding neither tears nor moan,  
Flies from the fountain leaving me alone.   

Sonnet 10.  
Am I a Gorgon? that she doth me fly,  
Or was I hatched in the river Nile?  
Or doth my Chloris stand in doubt that I  
With siren songs do seek her to beguile?  
If any one of these she can object  
'Gainst me which chaste affected love protest,  
Then might my fortunes by her frowns be checked,  
And blameless she from scandal free might rest.  
But seeing I am no hideous monster borne,  
But have that shape which other men do bear,  
Which form great jupiter did never scorn,  
Amongst her subjects here on earth to wear.  
Why should she then that soul with sorrow fill,  
Which vowed hath to love and serve her still.   

Sonnet 11.  
Tell me my dear what moves thy ruthless mind  
To be so cruel, seeing thou art so fair?  
Did Nature frame thy beauty so unkind▪  
Or dost thou scorn to pity my despair?  
O no it was not nature's ornament,  
But winged loves unpartial cruel wound,  
Which in my heart is ever permanent,  
Until my Chloris make me whole and sound.  
O glorious love-god think on my heart's grief,  
Let not thy vassal pine through deep disdain,  
By wounding Chloris I shall find relief,  
If thou impart to her some of my pain.  
She doth thy temples and thy shrines abject,  
They with Amintas flowers by me are decked.   

Sonnet 12.  
Cease eyes to weep sith none bemoans your weeping,  
Leave of good muse to sound the cruel name  
Of my loves Queen which hath my heart in keeping,  
Yet of my love doth make a jesting game.  
Long hath my sufferance laboured to enforce,  
One pearl of pity from her pretty eyes,  
Whilst I with restless Oceans of remorse  
Bedew the banks where my fair Chloris lies,  
Where my fair Chloris baths her tender skin,  
And doth triumph to see such rivers fall  
From those moist springs, which never dry have been  
Since she their honour hath detain'de in thrall.  
And still she scorns one favouring smile to show  
Unto those waves proceeding from my woe.   

A dream. Sonnet. 13.  
What time fair Titan in the Zenith sat,  
And equally the fixed poles did heat,  
When to my flock my daily woes I chat,  
And underneath abroad beech took my seat:  
The dreaming god which Morpheus Poets call,  
Augmenting fuel to my Aetna's fire,  
With sleep possessing my weak senses all,  
In apparitions makes my hopes aspire.  
Me thought I saw the Nymph I would embrace,  
With arms abroad coming to me for help,  
A lust-led Satire having her in chase  
Which after her, about the fields did yelp.  
I seeing my love in perplexed plight,  
A sturdy bat from of an oak I rest,  
And with the ravishor continue fight  
Till breathless I upon the earth him left.  
Then when my coy Nymph saw her breathless foe,  
With kisses kind she gratifies my pain,  
Protesting never rigour more to show.  
Happy was I this good hap to obtain,  
But drowsy slumbers flying to their cell,  
My sudden joy converted was to bale,  
My wont sorrows still with me do dwell.  
I looked round about on hill and dale,  
But I could neither my fair Chloris view,  
Nor yet the Satire which erst while I slew.   

Sonnet 14.  
Moornfull Amintas thou didst pine with care,  
Because the fates by their untimely doom,  
Or life bereft thy loving Phillis fair:  
When thy loves spring did first begin to bloom.  
My care doth countervail that care of thine,  
And yet my Chloris draws her angry breath,  
My hopes still hoping hopeless now repine,  
For living she doth add to me but death.  
Thy Phillis dying, loved thee full dear,  
My Chloris living, hates poor Coryns' love,  
Thus doth my woe as great as thine appear,  
Though sundry accents both our sorrows move.  
Thy swanlike songs, did show thy dying anguish:  
These weeping truce-men show I living languish.   

Sonnet 15.  
These weeping truce-men show I living languish,  
My woeful wail tells my discontent,  
Yet Chloris nought esteemeth of mine anguish,  
My thrilling throbs her heart cannot relent.  
My Kids to hear, the rhymes and round delays  
Which I on wasteful hills was wont to sing:  
Did more delight the Lark in summer days,  
Whole echo made the neighbour groves to ring.  
But now my flock all drooping bleats and cries,  
Because my pipe the author of their sport,  
All rent and torn, and unrespected lies,  
Their lamentations do my cares consort.  
They cease to feed and listen to the plaint,  
Which I power forth unto a cruel Saint.   

Sonnet 16.  
Which I power forth unto a cruel Saint,  
Who merciless my prayers doth attend:  
Who Tigerlike doth pity my complaint,  
And never ear unto my woes will lend.  
But still false hope despairing life deludes,  
And tells my fancy I shall grace obtain,  
But Chloris fair my orisons concludes  
With fearful frowns presages of my pain.  
Thus do I spend the weary wandering day,  
Oppressed with a Chaos of heart's grief,  
Thus I consume the obscure night away,  
Neglecting sleep which brings all cares relief,  
Thus I pass my lingering life in woe,  
But when my bliss will come I do not know.   

Sonnet 17.  
The perils which Leander took in hand,  
Fair Heros love and favour to obtain:  
When void of fear securely leaving land,  
Through Hellespont he swum to Sestos main,  
His dangers should not counterpoise my toil.  
If my dear love would once but pity show,  
To quench these flames which in my breast do broil,  
Or dry these springs which from mine eyes do flow:  
Not only Hellespont but Ocean seas,  
For her sweet sake to ford I would attempt.  
So that my travels would her ire appears,  
My soul from thrall and languish to exempt,  
O what is't not poor I would undertake,  
If labour could my peace with Chloris make.   

Sonnet 18.  
My Love, I cannot thy rare beauty's place▪  
Under those forms which many writers use,  
Some like to stones compare their mistress face:  
Some in the name of flowers do love abuse:  
Some makes their love a goldsmith's shop to be,  
Where orient pearls and precious stones, abound.  
In my conceit these far do disagree,  
The perfect praise of beauty forth to sound.  
O Chloris thou dost imitate thyself,  
Selves imitating passeth precious stones,  
Or all the Eastern Indian golden pelf:  
Thy red and white with purest fair atones,  
Matchless for beauty, nature hath thee framed,  
Only unkind, and cruel thou art named.   

Sonnet 19  
The Hound by eating grass doth find relief,  
For being sick it is his choicest meat:  
The wounded Hart doth ease his pain and grief  
If he the herb Dictamion may eat:  
The loath some Snake renews his sight again:  
When he casts off his withered coat and hue:  
The sky bred Eagle fresh age doth obtain  
When he his beak decayeth doth renew.  
I worse than these whose sore no salve can cure,  
Whose grief no herb, nor plant nor tree can ease,  
Remediless I still must pain endure,  
Till I my Chloris furious mood can please:  
She like the Scorpion gave to me a wound,  
And like the Scorpion she must make me sound.   

Sonnet 20.  
Ye wasteful woods bear witness of my woe,  
Wherein my plaints did oftentimes abound:  
Ye careless birds my sorrows well do know,  
They in your songs were wont to make a sound.  
Thou pleasant spring canst record likewise bear  
Of my designs and sad disparagement,  
When thy transparent billows mingled wear  
With those downfalls which from mine eyes were sent.  
The echo of my still-lamenting cries,  
From hallow vaults in triple voice resoundeth,  
And then into the empty air it flies,  
And back again from whence it came reboundeth.  
That Nymph unto my clamours doth reply,  
Being likewise scorned in love as well as I.   

Sonnet 21.  
Being likewise scorned in love as well as I  
By that self-loving boy, which did disdain  
To hear her after him for love to cry,  
For which in dens obscure she doth remain:  
Yet doth she answer to each speech and voice,  
And renders back the last of what we speak,  
(But ' specially if she might have her choice,  
She of unkindness would her talk forth break.)  
She loves to hear of loves most sacred name,  
Although poor nymph in love she was despised;  
And ever since she hides her head for shame,  
That her true meaning was so lightly prized:  
She pitying me, part of my woes doth bear,  
As you good shepherds listening now shall hear.   

Sonnet 22.  
O fairest fair to thee I make my plaint, my plaint,  
To thee from whom my cause of grief doth spring, doth spring,  
Attentive be unto the groans sweet Saint, sweet Saint,  
Which unto thee in doleful tunes I sing. I sing.  
My mournful muse doth always speak of thee, of thee,  
My love is pure o do it not disdain, disdain,  
With bitter sorrow still oppress not me, not me,  
But mildly look upon me which complain. which complain.  
Kill not my true-affecting thoughts, but give but give  
Such precious balm of comfort to my heart, my heart,  
That casting off despair in hope to live, hope to live.  
I may find help at length to ease my smart, to ease my smart  
So shall you add such courage to my love, my love,  
That fortune false my faith shall not remove. shall not remove.   

Sonnet 23.  
The Phoenix fair which rich Arabia breeds,  
When wasting time, expires her tragedy.  
No more on Phoebus' radiant raise she feeds,  
But heapeth up great store of spicery.  
And on a lofty towering Cedar tree,  
With heavenly substance she herself consumes,  
From whence she young again appears to be,  
Out of the Cinders of her peerless plumes.  
So I which long have fried in loves flame,  
The fire not made of spice but sighs and tears,  
Revive again in hope disdain to shame,  
And put to flight the Author of my fears.  
Her eyes revive decaying life in me,  
Though they augmenters of my thraldom be.   

Sonnet 24.  
Though they augmenters of my thraldom be,  
For her I live and her I love and none else:  
O then fair eyes look mildly upon me,  
Who poor despised, forlorn must live alone else,  
And like Amintas haunt the desert cells  
(And moneyless there breath out thy cruelty)  
Where none but care and Melancholy dwells.  
I for revenge to Nemesis will cry;  
If that will not prevail my wandering ghost,  
Which breathless here this love scorched trunk shall leave,  
Shall unto thee with tragic tidings post,  
How thy disdain did life from soul bereave.  
Then all too late my death thou wilt repent,  
When murders guilt thy conscience shall torment.   

Sonnet 25.  
Who doth not know that love is triumphant,  
Sitting upon the throne of Majesty,  
The gods themselves his cruel darts do daunt,  
And he blind boy smiles at their misery?  
Love made great jove ofttimes transform his shape.  
love made the fierce Alcides stoop at last.  
Achilles stout and bold, could not escape  
The direful doom which love upon him cast.  
love made Leander pass the dreadful flood  
Which Sestos from Abydos doth divide.  
love made a Chaos where proud Ilium stood,  
Through love the Carthaginian Dido died.  
Thus may we see how love doth rule & reigns,  
Bringing those under, which his power disdains.   

Sonnet 26.  
Though you be fair and beautiful withal,  
And I am black for which you me despise,  
Know that your beauty subject is to fall  
Though you esteem it at so high a prize.  
And time may come when that whereof you boast,  
(Which is your youths chief wealth and ornament)  
Shall withered be by winter's raging frost,  
When beauties pride and flowering years are spent.  
Then wilt thou morn when none shall thee respect:  
Then wilt thou think how thou hast scorned my tears,  
Then pitiless each one will thee neglect,  
When hoary grey shall die thy yellow hairs.  
Then wilt thou think upon poor corin's case,  
Who loved thee dear yet lived in thy disgrace.   

Sonnet 27.  
O Love leave of with sorrow to torment me,  
Let my heart's grief and pining pain content thee.  
The breach is made I give thee leave to enter,  
Thee to resist great god I dare not venture.  
Restless desire doth aggravate mine anguish,  
Careful conceits do fill my soul with languish.  
Be not too cruel in thy conquest gained,  
Thy deadly shafts hath victory obtained.  
Batter no more my fort with fierce affection,  
But shield me captive under thy protection.  
I yield to thee O Love thou art the stronger,  
Raise then thy siege, and trouble me no longer.   

Sonnet 28.  
What cruel star or fate had domination  
When I was borne, that thus my love is crossed?  
Or from what Planet had I derivation  
That thus my life in seas of woe is crossed?  
Doth any live that ever had such hap  
That all their actions are of none effect?  
Whom fortune never dandled in her lap  
But as an abject still doth me reject,  
Ah fickle dame, and yet thou constant art  
My daily grief and anguish to increase,  
And to augment the troubles of my heart  
Thou of these bonds will't never me release.  
So that thy darlings me to be may know,  
The true Idea of all worldly woe.   

Sonnet 29.  
Some in their hearts their Mistress colours bears,  
Some hath her gloves, some other hath her garters,  
Some in a bracelet wears her golden hairs,  
And some with kisses seal their loving charters.  
But I which never favour reaped yet,  
Nor had one pleasant look from her fair brow,  
Content myself in silent shade to sit  
In hope at length my cares to overplow.  
Mean while mine eyes shall feed on her fair face,  
My sighs shall tell to her my sad designs,  
My painful pen shall ever sue for grace  
To help my heart, which languishing now pines.  
And I will triumph still amidst my woe  
Till mercy shall my sorrows overflow.   

Sonnet 30.  
The raging sea within his limits lies  
And with an ebb his flowing doth discharge,  
The rivers when beyond their bounds they rises,  
Themselves do empty, in the Ocean large:  
But my loves sea which never limit keepeth,  
Which never ebbs but always ever floweth,  
In liquid salt unto my Chloris weary,  
Yet frustrate are the tears which he bestoweth:  
This sea which first was but a little spring  
Is now so great and far beyond all reason,  
That it a deluge to my thoughts doth bring,  
Which overwhelmed hath my joying season.  
So hard and dry is my Saints cruel mind,  
These waves no way in her to sink can find.   

Sonnet 31.  
These waves no way in her to sink can find  
To penetrate the pith of contemplation,  
These tears cannot dissolve her hardened mind,  
Nor move her heart on me to take compassion:  
O then poor Coryne scorned and quite despised,  
Loath now to live since life procures thy woe,  
Enough thou hast thy heart anatomised  
For her sweet sake which will no pity shoe:  
But as cold winter's storms and nipping frost,  
Can never change sweet Aramanthus hue,  
So though my love and life by her are crossed;  
My heart shall still be constant firm and true.  
Although Erynnis hinders Hymen's rites,  
My fixed faith against oblivion fites.   

Sonnet 32.  
My fixed faith against oblivion fights,  
And I cannot forget her pretty elf,  
(Although she cruel be unto my plights)  
Yet let me rather clean forget myself,  
Then her sweet name out of my mind should go,  
Which is th' Elixir of my pining soul,  
From whence the essence of my life doth flow,  
Whose beauty rare my senses all control,  
Themselves most happy evermore accounting,  
That such a nymph is Queen of their affection,  
With ravished rage they to the skies are mounting,  
Esteeming not their thraldom nor subjection,  
But still do joy amidst their misery,  
With patience bearing loves captivity.   

Sonnet 33.  
With patience bearing loves captivity  
Themselves unguilty of his wrath alleging,  
These homely lines abjects of Poesy  
For liberty and for their ransom pleadging,  
And being free they solemnly do vow,  
Under his banner ever arms to bear  
Against those rebels which do disallow  
That love of bliss should be the sovereign heir:  
And Chloris if these weeping truce-men may  
One spark of pity from thine eyes obtain,  
In recompense of their sad heavy lay;  
Poor Coryne shall thy faithful friend remain,  
And what I say I ever will approve,  
No joy may be compared to thy love.   

Sonnet 34.  
The bird of Thrace which doth bewail her rape,  
And murdered Itis eaten by his sire,  
When she her woes in doleful tunes doth shape,  
She sets her breast against a thorny brire,  
Because care-charmer sleep should not disturb  
The tragic tale which to the night she tells,  
She doth her rest and quietness thus curb  
Amongst the groves where secret silence dwells.  
Even so I wake, and waking wail all night,  
Chloris unkindness slumbers doth expel,  
I need not thorns sweet sleep to put to flight,  
Her cruelty my golden rest doth quell:  
That day and night to me are always one,  
Consumed in woe, in tears, in sighs and moan.   

Sonnet 35.  
Like to the shipman in his brittle boat,  
Tossed aloft by the unconstant wind,  
By dangerous rocks, and whirling gulfs doth float,  
Hoping at length the wished port to find:  
So doth my love in stormy billows sail,  
And passeth the gaping Sulla's waves,  
In hope at length with Chloris to prevail  
And win that prize which most my fancy craves:  
Which unto me of value will be more,  
Then was that rich and wealthy golden fleece,  
Which jason stout from Colchos Island bore  
With wind in sails unto the shore of Greece.  
More rich, more rare, more worth her love I prise  
Then all the wealth which under heaven lies.   

Sonnet 36.  
O what a wound and what a deadly stroke,  
Doth Cupid give to us perplexed lovers?  
Which cleaves more fast, than ivy doth to oak,  
Unto our hearts where he his might discovers.  
Though warlike Mars were armed at all points,  
With that tried coat which fiery Vulcan made,  
loves shafts did penetrate his steeled joints,  
And in his breast in streaming gore did wade,  
So pitiless is this fell conqueror:  
That in his mother's paps his arrows stuck,  
Such is his rage that he doth not defer,  
To wound those orbs from whence he life did suck.  
Then sith no mercy he shows to his mother,  
We meekly must his force and rigour smother.   

Sonnet 37.  
Each beast in field doth wish the morning light,  
The birds to Hesper pleasant lays do sing:  
The wanton kids well fed rejoice in night,  
Being likewise glad when day gins to spring.  
But night nor day are welcome unto me,  
Both can bear witness of my lamentation,  
All day sad sighing Corine you shall see,  
All night he spends in tears and exclamation.  
Thus still I live although I take no rest:  
But living look as one that is a dying:  
Thus my sad soul with care and grief oppressed,  
Seems as a ghost to Styx and Lethe flying.  
Thus hath fond love bereft my youthful years,  
Of all good hap before old age appears.   

Sonnet 38.  
That day wherein mine eyes cannot her see,  
Which is the essence of their crystal sight,  
Both blind, obscure and dim that day they be,  
And are debarred of fair heavens light,  
That day wherein mine ears do want to hear her,  
Hearing that day is from me quite bereft,  
That day wherein to touch I come not near her,  
That day no sense of touching I have left,  
That day wherein I lack the fragrant smell,  
Which from her pleasant amber breath proceedeth,  
Smelling that day disdains with me to dwell,  
Only weak hope my pining carcase feedeth.  
But burst poor heart thou hast no better hope,  
Since all thy senses have no further scope.   

Sonnet 39  
The stately Lion and the furious Bear  
The skill of man doth alter from their kind,  
For where before they wild and savage were,  
By art both tame and meek, you shall them find.  
The Elephant although a mighty beast,  
A man may rule according to his skill,  
The lusty horse obaieth our behest,  
For with the Curb you may him guide at will:  
Although the stint most hard contains the fire,  
By force we do his virtue soon obtain,  
For with a steel you shall have your desire,  
Thus man may all things by industry gain;  
Only a woman if she list not love,  
No art, nor force, can unto pity move.   

Sonnet 40.  
No Art nor force can unto pity move  
Her stony heart that makes my heart to pant:  
No pleading passions of my extreme love  
Can mollify her mind of adamant.  
Ah cruel sex, and foe to all mankind:  
Either you love or else you hate too much:  
A glistering show of gold in you we find,  
And yet you prove but copper in the touch.  
But why? O why? do I so far digress?  
Nature you made of pure and fairest mould,  
The pomp and glory of man to depress,  
And as your slaves in thraldom them to hold▪  
Which by experience now too well I prove,  
There is no pain unto the pains of love.   

Sonnet 41.  
Fair Shepherdess when as these rustic lines  
Comes to thy sight, weigh but with what affection  
Thy servile doth depaint his sad desines,  
Which to redress of thee he makes election.  
If so you scorn you kill, if you seem coy  
You wound poor Corine to the very heart:  
If that you smile you shall increase his joy:  
If these you like you banish do all smart.  
And this I do protest most fairest fair,  
My muse shall never cease that hill to climb,  
To which the learned Muses do repair,  
And all to deify thy name in rhyme.  
And never none shall write with truer mind,  
As by all proof and trial you shall find.   

Sonnet 42.  
Dye, die, my hopes for you do but augment  
The burning accents of my deep despair,  
Disdain and scorn, your downfall do consent,  
Tell to the world she is unkind, yet fair.  
O eyes close up those ever-running fountains,  
For pitiless are all the tears you shed  
Wherewith you watered have both dales and mountains,  
I see, I see, remorse from her is fled.  
Pack hence ye sighs into the empty air,  
Into the air that none your sound may hear,  
Sith cruel Chloris hath of you no care,  
Although she once esteemed you full dear.  
Let Sable night all your disgraces cover,  
Yet truer sighs were never sighed by lover.   

Sonnet 43.  
Thou glorious sun, from whence my lesser light  
The substance of his crystal shine doth borrow,  
Let these my moans find favour in thy sight,  
And with remorse extinguish now my sorrow.  
Renew those lamps which thy disdain hath quenched,  
As Phoebus doth his sister Phoebe's shine,  
Consider how thy Coryne being drenched  
In seas of woe, to thee his plaints incline.  
And at thy feet with tears doth sue for grace,  
Which art the goddess of his chaste desire,  
Let not thy frowns these labours poor deface  
Although aloft they at the first aspire.  
And time shall come as yet unknown to men  
When I more large thy praises forth shall pen.   

Sonnet 44.  
When I more large thy praises forth shall show,  
That all the world thy beauty shall admire,  
Desiring that most sacred Nymph to know  
Which hath the sheapherds' fancy set on fire,  
Till than my dear let these thine eyes content,  
Till then fair love think if I merit favour,  
Till then O let thy merciful assent  
Relish my hopes with some comforting savour,  
So shall you add such courage to my muse,  
That she shall climb the step parnasa's hill,  
That learned Poets shall my deeds peruse  
When I from thence obtained have more skill.  
And what I sing shall always be of thee  
As long as life or breath remains in me.   

Sonnet 45.  
When she was borne whom I entirely love,  
Th'immortal gods her birth-rites forth to grace  
Descending from their glorious seat above,  
They did on her these several virtues place.  
First Saturn gave to her sobriety,  
jove then endued her with comeliness,  
And Sol with wisdom did her beautify,  
Mercury with wit and knowledge did her bless,  
Venus with beauty did all parts bedeck,  
Luna therewith did modesty combine,  
Diana chaste all lose desires did check,  
And like a lamp in clearness she doth shine.  
But Mars according to his stubborn kind,  
No virtue gave, but a disdainful mind.   

Sonnet 46.  
When Chloris first with her hart-robbing-eie  
Enchanted had my silly senses all,  
I little did respect loves cruelty,  
I never thought his snares should me enthrall:  
But since her tresses have entangled me,  
My pining flock did never hear me sing  
Those jolly notes which erst did make them glee,  
Nor do my kids about me leap and spring,  
As they were wont, but when they hear me cry  
They likewise cry and fill the air with bleating:  
Then do my sheep upon the cold earth lie,  
And feed no more, my griefs they are repeating.  
O Chloris if thou than sawest them and me  
I'm sure thou wouldst both pity them and me.   

Sonnet 47.  
I need not tell thee of the lily white,  
Nor of the roseate red which doth thee grace,  
Nor of thy golden hairs like Phoebus' bright,  
Nor of the beauty of thy fairest face.  
Nor of thine eyes which heavenly stars excel,  
Nor of thine azured veins which are so clear,  
Nor of thy paps where Love himself doth dwell,  
Which like two hills of violets appear.  
Nor of thy tender sides, nor belly soft,  
Nor of thy goodly thighs as white as snow,  
Whose glory to my fancy seemeth oft,  
That like an arch triumphal they do show.  
All these I know that thou dost know too well,  
But of thy heart too cruel I thee tell.   

Sonnet 48.  
But of thy heart too cruel I thee tell,  
Which hath tormented my young budding age,  
And doth (unless your mildness passions quell)  
My utter ruin near at hand presage.  
Instead of blood which wont was to display  
His ruddy red upon my hearlesse face,  
By over grieving that is fled away,  
Pale dying colour there hath taken place.  
Those curled locks which thou wast wont to twist  
Unkempt, unshorn, and out of order been,  
Since my disgrace I had of them no list,  
Since when these eyes no joyful day have seen,  
Nor never shall till you renew again  
The mutual love, which did possess us twain.   

Sonnet 49.  
You that embrace enchanting Poesy,  
Be gracious to perplexed Coryns' lines.  
You that do feel loves proud authority,  
Help me to sing my sighs and sad designs.  
Chloris requite not faithful love with scorn,  
But as thou oughtest have commiseration,  
I have enough anatomised and torn  
My heart, thereof to make a pure oblation.  
Likewise consider how thy Coryne prizeth  
Thy parts above each absolute perfection,  
How he of every precious thing deviseth  
To make thee sovereign, grant me then affection.  
Else thus I prize thee, Chloris is alone  
More hard than gold, or pearl, or precious stone.   

Sonnet 50.  
Colin I know that in thy lofty wit  
Thou wilt but laugh at these my youthful lines,  
Content I am, they should in silence sit,  
Obscured from light, to sing their sad designs:  
But that it pleased thy grave shepherdhood  
The Patron of my maiden verse to be,  
When I in doubt of raging Envy stood,  
And now I weigh not who shall Chloris see.  
For fruit before it comes to full perfection  
But blossoms is, as every man doth know:  
So these being blooms, and under thy protection  
In time I hope to ripeness more will grow.  
And so I leave thee to thy worthy muse,  
Desiring thee all faults here to excuse.  
FINIS.