(20) Lament the woes through fancie me betide. Phillis is dead, the marke of my desire, My cause of loue, and shipwrack of my ioyes, Phillis is gone that set my heart on fire, That clad my thoughts with ruinous annoyes.
(25) Phillis is fled, and bides I wote not where, Phillis (alas) the praise of woman-kinde: Phillis the Sunne of this our Hemisphere, Whose beames made me, and many others blinde. But blinded me (poore Swaine) aboue the rest, (30) That like olde Oedipus I liue in thrall: Still feele the woorst, and neuer hope the best, My mirth in moane, and honey drown’d in gall.
Her faire, but cruell eyes, bewitcht my sight, Her sweete, but fading speech enthrall’d my thought: (35) And in her deedes I reaped such delight, As brought both will and libertie to nought. Therefore all hope of happines adiew, Adiew desire the source of all my care: Despaire tells me, my weale will nere renue, (40) Till thus my soule dooth passe in Charons Crare.
Meane time my minde must suffer Fortunes scorne, My thoughts still wound, like wounds that still are greene: My weakened limbs be layd on beds of thorne, My life decayes, although my death’s fore-seene. (45) Mine eyes, now eyes no more, but Seas of teares, Weepe on your fill, to coole my burning brest: Where loue did place desire, twixt hope and feares, (I say) desire, the Authour of vnrest.