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.
And would to God, Phillis where ere thou be, (50) Thy soule did see the sower of mine estate: My ioyes ecclips’d, for onely want of thee My being with my selfe at foule debate. My humble vowes, my sufferance of woe, My sobs and sighs, and euer-watching eyes: (55) My plaintiue teares, my wandring to and fro, My will to die, my neuer-ceasing cries.
No doubt but then these sorrowes would perswade, The doome of death, to cut my vitall twist: That I with thee amidst th’infernall shade, (60) And thou with me might sport vs as we list. Oh if thou waite on faire Proserpines traine, And hearest Orpheus neere th’Elizian springs: Entreate thy Queene to free thee thence againe, And let the Thracian guide thee with his strings.
FINIS. Tho. Watson.