Like to the shipman in his brittle boat. Tossed aloft by the unconstant wind, By dangerous rocks and whirling gulfs doth float, Hoping at length the wished port to find; So doth my love in stormy billows sail, And passeth the gaping Scilla's waves, In hope at length with Chloris to prevail And win that prize which most my fancy craves, Which unto me of value will be more Then was that rich and wealthy golden fleece. Which Jason stout from Colchos' island bore With wind in sails unto the shore of Greece. More rich, more rare, more worth her love I prize Then all the wealth which under heaven lies. XXXVI O what a wound and what a deadly stroke, Doth Cupid give to us perplexed lovers, Which cleaves more fast then ivy doth to oak, Unto our hearts where he his might discovers! Though warlike Mars were armed at all points, With that tried coat which fiery Vulcan made, Love's shafts did penetrate his steeled joints, And in his breast in streaming gore did wade. So pitiless is this fell conqueror That in his mother's paps his arrows stuck; Such is his rage that he doth not defer To wound those orbs from whence he life did suck. Then sith no mercy he shows to his mother, We meekly must his force and rigour smother. XXXVII Each beast in field doth wish the morning light; The birds to Hesper pleasant lays do sing; The wanton kids well-fed rejoice in night, Being likewise glad when day begins to spring. But night nor day are welcome unto me, Both can bear witness of my lamentation; All day sad sighing Corin you shall see, All night he spends in tears and exclamation. Thus still I live although I take no rest, But living look as one that is a-dying; Thus my sad soul with care and grief oppressed, Seems as a ghost to Styx and Lethe flying. Thus hath fond love bereft my youthful years Of all good hap before old age appears. XXXVIII That day wherein mine eyes cannot her see, Which is the essence of their crystal sight, Both blind, obscure and dim that day they be, And are debarred of fair heaven's light; That day wherein mine ears do want to hear her, Hearing that day is from me quite bereft; That day wherein to touch I come not near her, That day no sense of touching I have left; That day wherein I lack the fragrant smell, Which from her pleasant amber breath proceedeth, Smelling that day disdains with me to dwell, Only weak hope my pining carcase feedeth. But burst, poor heart, thou hast no better hope, Since all thy senses have no further scope! XXXIX