Stands gazing still to see: The wondrous gifts and powre, Each howre, (30) That hath bewitched me.
T. L. Gent.
A Las my hart, mine eie hath wronged thee, +Presumptious eie, to gaze on Phillis face: Whose heauenly eie, no mortall man my see, But he must die, or purchase Phillis grace; (5) Poore Coridon, the Nimph whose eie doth moue thee, Doth loue to draw, but is not drawne to loue thee.
Hir beautie, Natures pride, and Shepherds praise, Hir eie, the heauenly Planet of my life, Hir matchles wit, and grace, hir fame displaies, (10) As if that Ioue had made hir for his wife; Onely hir eies shoote firie darts to kill, Yet is hir hart, as cold as Caucase hill.
My wings too weake, to flie against the Sunne, Mine eies vnable to sustaine hir light, (15) My hart doth yeeld, that I am quite vndoon, Thus hath faire Phillis slaine me with hir sight: My bud is blasted, withered 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 powre; Goddesse of Nimphes, and honor of thy kinde, This Ages Phenix , Beauties brauest bowre; Poore Coridon for loue of thee must die, Thy Beauties thrall, and conquest of thine eie.
(25) Leaue Coridon, to plough the barren feeld, Thy buds of hope are blasted with disgrace;