Amyntas for his Phyllis

Aurora now began to rise again
From watery couch and from old Tithon's side.
In hope to kiss upon Actaean plain
Young Cephalus; and through the golden glide
On eastern coast [s]he cast so great a light.
That Phoebus thought it time to make retire
From Thetis' bower, wherein he spent the night.
To light the world again with heavenly fire.

No sooner gan his winged steeds to chase
The Stygian night, mantled with dusky veil,
But poor Amyntas hasteth him apace.
In deserts thus to weep a woful tale:
" You silent shades, and all that dwell therein,
As birds, or beasts, or worms that creep on ground,
Dispose yourselves to tears, while I begin
To rue the grief of mine eternal wound.

' ' And doleful ghosts where Nature flies the light,
Come seat yourselves with me on every side;
And while I die for want of my delight,
Lament the woes through fancy me betide.
Phyllis is dead, the mark of my desire.
My cause of love, and shipwreck of my joys;
Phyllis is gone, that set my heart on fire.
That clad my thoughts with ruinous annoys.

" Phyllis is fled, and bides I wot not where,
Phyllis, alas! the praise of womankind;
Phyllis, the sun of this our hemisphere.
Whose beams made me and many others blind;
But blinded me, poor swain, above the rest.
That like old Oedipus I live in thrall;
Still feel the worst, and never hope the best,
My mirth in moan, and honey drown'd in gall.

" Her fair but cruel eyes bewitch'd my sight.
Her sweet but fading speech enthrall'd my thought.
And in her deeds I reap'd such delight
As brought both will and liberty to nought.
Therefore all hope of happiness, adieu!
Adieu, desire, the source of all my care!
Despair tells me my weal will ne'er renew.
Till thus my soul doth pass in Charon's crare.

" Meantime my mind must suffer Fortune's scorn,
My thoughts still wound, like wounds that still aie green.

My weaken'd limbs be laid on beds of thorn;
My life decays, although my death's foreseen.
Mine eyes, now eyes no more, but seas of tears.
Weep on your fill, to cool my burning breast.
Where Love did place desire, 'twixt hope and fears;
I say desire, the author of unrest.

" And would to God, Phyllis! where'er thou be.
Thy soul did see the sour of mine estate;
My joys eclipsed for only want of thee,
My being with myself at foul debate;
My humble vows, my sufferance of woe.
My sobs, and sighs, and ever-watching eyes;
My plaintive tears, my wand'ring to and fro,
My will to die, my never-ceasing cries.

" No doubt but then these sorrows would persuade
The doom of death to cut my vital twist.
That I with thee amidst th' infernal shade.
And thou with me might sport us as we list.
Oh, if thou wait on fair Proserpine's train.
And hearest Orpheus near the Elysian springs.
Entreat thy queen to free thee thence again,
And let the Thracian guide thee with his strings! "