(5) On Easterne coast, she cast so great a light, That Phoebus thought it time to make retire, From Thetis Bowre, wherein he spent the night, To light the world againe with heauenly fire.
Nor sooner gan his winged steedes to chase, (10) The Stigian night, mantled with duskie vale, But poore Amyntas, hasteth him apace, In desarts thus, to weepe a wofull tale.
Now silent shades, and all that dwell therein, As Birds, or Beasts, or Wormes that creepe on grounde, (15) Dispose your selues to teares, while I begin, To rew the griefe, of mine eternall wounde.
And dolefull ghosts, whose nature flies the light, Come seate your selues with me on eu’ry side, And whilst I die for want of my delight, (20) Lament the woes that Fancie me betide.
Phillis is dead, the marke of my desire, My cause of loue, and shipwracke of my ioyes, Phillis is gone, that set my hart on fire, That clad my thoughts with ruinous annoyes.
(25) Phillis is fled, and bides I wot not where, Phillis (alas) the praise of woman kinde, Phillis the Sun of this our hemisphere, Whose beames made me and many others blinde.
But blinded me (poore man) aboue the rest, (30) That like olde Oedipus , I liue in thrall, Still feele the worst, and neuer hope the best, My mirth in mone, my honie drownd in gall.
Hir faire, but cruell eies, bewitcht my sight, Hir sweete, but fading speech, enthrald my thought,