Phillis: Eclogue 2 (Thirsis)

Muses help me, sorrow swarmeth,
Eyes are fraught with seas of languish;
Heavy hope my solace harmeth,
Mind's repast is bitter anguish.

Eye of day regarded never
Certain trust in world untrusty;
Flattering hope beguileth ever
Weary, old, and wanton lusty.

Dawn of day beholds enthronèd
Fortune's darling, proud and dreadless;
Darksome night doth hear him moanèd,
Who before was rich and needless.

Rob the sphere of lines united,
Make a sudden void in nature;
Force the day to be benighted,
Reave the cause of time and creature;

Ere the world will cease to vary,
This I weep for, this I sorrow.
Muses, if you please to tarry,
Further helps I mean to borrow.

Courted once by fortune's favour,
Compassed now with envy's curses,
All my thoughts of sorrow savour,
Hopes run fleeting like the sources.

Ay me! Wanton scorn hath maimèd
All the joy my heart enjoyèd;
Thoughts their thinking have disclaimèd,
Hate my hopes hath quite annoyèd.

Scant regard my weal hath scanted,
Looking coy hath forced my lowering;
Nothing liked where nothing wanted
Weds mine eyes to ceaseless showering.

Former love was once admirèd,
Present favour is estrangèd,
Loath the pleasure long desirèd;
Thus both men and thoughts are changèd.

Lovely swain with lucky guiding,
Once (but now no more so friended)
Thou my flocks hast had in minding,
From the morn till day was ended.

Drink and fodder, food and folding,
Had my lambs and ewes together;
I with them was still beholding,
Both in warmth and winter weather.

Now they languish since refusèd,
Ewes and lambs are pained with pining;
I with ewes and lambs confusèd,
All unto our deaths declining.

Silence, leave thy cave obscurèd;
Deign a doleful swain to tender;
Though disdains I have endurèd,
Yet I am no deep offender.

Phillis' son can with his finger
Hide his scar, it is so little;
Little sin a day to linger,
Wise men wander in a tittle.

Thriftless yet my swain have turnèd,
Though my sun he never showeth:
Though I weep, I am not mournèd;
Though I want, no pity groweth.

Yet for pity love my muses;
Gentle silence be their cover;
They must leave their wonted uses,
Since I leave to be a lover.

They shall live with thee inclosèd,
I will loathe my pen and paper
Art shall never be supposèd,
Sloth shall quench the watching taper.

Kiss them, silence, kiss them kindly
Though I leave them, yet I love them;
Though my wit have led them blindly,
Yet my swain did once approve them.

I will travel soils removèd,
Night and morrow never merry;
Thou shalt harbour that I lovèd,
I will love that makes me weary.

If perchance the sheep estrayeth,
In thy walks and shades unhaunted,
Tell the teen my heart betrayeth,
How neglect my joys hath daunted.

XXI

Ye heralds of my heart, mine ardent groans,
O tears which gladly would burst out to brooks,
Oh spent on fruitless sand my surging moans,
Oh thoughts enthralled unto care-boding looks!
Ah just laments of my unjust distress,
Ah fond desires whom reason could not guide!
Oh hopes of love that intimate redress,
Yet prove the load-stars unto bad betide!
When will you cease? Or shall pain never-ceasing,
Seize oh my heart? Oh mollify your rage,
Lest your assaults with over-swift increasing,
Procure my death, or call on timeless age.
What if they do? They shall but feed the fire,
Which I have kindled by my fond desire.

XXII

Fair art thou, Phillis, ay, so fair, sweet maid,
As nor the sun, nor I have seen more fair;
For in thy cheeks sweet roses are embayed,
And gold more pure than gold doth gild thy hair.
Sweet bees have hived their honey on thy tongue,
And Hebe spiced her nectar with thy breath;
About thy neck do all the graces throng,
And lay such baits as might entangle death.
In such a breast what heart would not be thrall?
From such sweet arms who would not wish embraces?
At thy fair hands who wonders not at all,
Wonder itself through ignorance embases?
Yet natheless though wondrous gifts you call these,
My faith is far more wonderful than all these.