You lofty pines, co-partners of my woe, When Chloris sitteth underneath your shade, To her those sighs and tears I pray you show, Whilst you attending I for her have made. Whilst you attending, dropped have sweet balm In token that you pity my distress, Zephirus hath your stately boughs made calm. Whilst I to you my sorrows did express, The neighbour mountains bended have their tops, When they have heard my rueful melody, And elves in rings about me leaps and hops, To frame my passions to their jollity. Resounding echoes from their obscure caves, Reiterate what most my fancy craves. VII What need I mourn, seeing Pan our sacred king Was of that nymph fair Syrinx coy disdained? The world's great light which comforteth each thing, All comfortless for Daphne's sake remained. If gods can find no help to heal the sore Made by love's shafts, which pointed are with fire, Unhappy Corin, then thy chance deplore, Sith they despair by wanting their desire. I am not Pan though I a shepherd be, Yet is my love as fair as Syrinx was. My songs cannot with Phoebus' tunes agree, Yet Chloris' doth his Daphne's far surpass. How much more fair by so much more unkind, Than Syrinx coy, or Daphne, I her find! VIII No sooner had fair Phoebus trimmed his car, Being newly risen from Aurora's bed, But I in whom despair and hope did war, My unpenned flock unto the mountains led. Tripping upon the snow-soft downs I spied Three nymphs more fairer than those beautys three Which did appear to Paris on mount Ide. Coming more near, my goddess I there see; For she the field-nymphs oftentimes doth haunt, To hunt with them the fierce and savage boar; And having sported virelays they chaunt, Whilst I unhappy helpless cares deplore. There did I call to her, ah too unkind! But tiger-like, of me she had no mind. IX Unto the fountain where fair Delia chaste The proud Acteon turned to a hart, I drove my flock, that water sweet to taste, 'Cause from the welkin Phoebus 'gan depart. There did I see the nymph whom I admire, Rememb'ring her locks, of which the yellow hue Made blush the beauties of her curled wire, Which Jove himself with wonder well might view; Then red with ire, her tresses she berent, And weeping hid the beauty of her face, Whilst I amazed at her discontent, With tears and sighs do humbly sue for grace; But she regarding neither tears nor moan, Flies from the fountain leaving me alone. X