Her beautie, Natures pride, and Sheepheards praise, Her eye, the heauenly Planet of my life: Her matchlesse wit and grace, her fame displaies, (10) As if that Ioue had made her for his wife. Onely her eyes shoote fierie darts to kill: Yet is her hart as cold as Caucase + hill. My wings too weake to flye against the Sunne, Mine eyes vnable to sustaine her light: (15) My hart dooth yeeld that I am quite vndone, Thus hath faire Phillis slaine me with her sight. My bud is blasted, withred is my leafe: And all my corne is rotted in the sheafe. Phillis, the golden fetter of my minde, (20) My fancies Idoll, and my vitall power: Goddesse of Nimphs, and honour of thy kinde, This ages Phaenix, beauties richest bower. Poore Coridon for loue of thee must die: Thy beauties thrall, and conquest of thine eye. (25) Leaue Coridon to plough the barren field, Thy buds of hope are blasted with disgrace: For Phillis lookes no harty loue doo yeeld, Nor can she loue, for all her louely face. Die Coridon, the spoile of Phillis eye: (30) She cannot loue, and therefore thou must die.
FINIS. S. E. Dyer.