212IT was a Lordings daughter, the fairest one of three

213That liked of her maister, as well as well might be,

214Till looking on an Englishman, the fairest that eie could see,

215 Her fancie fell a turning.

216Long was the combat doubtfull, that loue with loue did fight

217To leaue the maister louelesse, or kill the gallant knight,

218To put in practise either, alas it was a spite

219 Vnto the silly damsell.

220But one must be refused, more mickle was the paine,

221That nothing could be vsed, to turne them both to gaine,

222For of the two the trusty knight was wounded with disdaine,

223 Alas she could not helpe it.

224Thus art with armes contending, was victor of the day,

225Which by a gift of learning, did beare the maid away,

226Then lullaby the learned man hath got the Lady gay,

227 For now my song is ended.

228ON a day (alacke the day)

229Loue whose month was euer May[.]

230Spied a blossome passing fair,

231Playing in the wanton ayre,

232Through the veluet leaues the wind

233All vnseene gan passage find,

234That the louer (sicke to death)

235Wisht himselfe the heauens breath,

236Ayre (quoth he) thy cheekes may blowe

237Ayre, would I might triumph so

238But (alas) my hand hath sworne,

239Nere to plucke thee from thy throne,

240Vow (alacke) for youth vnmeet,

241Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet,

242Thou for whome Ioue would sweare,

243Iuno but an Ethiope were

244And deny hymselfe for Ioue

245Turning mortall for thy Loue.

246MY flocks feede not, my Ewes breed not,

247My Rams speed not, all is amis:

248Loue is dying, Faithes defying,

249 Harts nenying, causer of this.

250All my merry Iigges are quite forgot,

251All my Ladies loue is lost (god wot)

252Where her faith was firmely fixt in loue,

253There a nay is plac't without remoue.

254 One silly crosse, wrought all my losse,

255 O frowning fortune cursed fickle dame,

256 For now I see, inconstancy,

257 More in wowen then in men remaine.

258In blacke morne I, all feares scorne I,

259Loue hath forlorne me, liuing in thrall:

260Hart is bleeding, all helpe needing,

261O cruell speeding, fraughted with gall.

262My shepheards pipe can sound no deale,

263My weathers bell rings dolefull knell,

264My curtaile dogge that wont to haue plaid,

265Plaies not at all but seemes afraid.

266 With sighes so deepe, procures to weepe,

267 In howling wise, to see my dolefull plight,

268 How sighes resound through hartles ground

269 Like a thousand vanquisht men in blodie fight.

270Cleare wels spring not, sweete birds sing not,

271Greene plants bring not forth their die,

272Heards stands weeping, flocks all sleeping,

273Nimphes blacke peeping fearefully:

274All our pleasure knowne to vs poore swaines:

275All our merrie meetings on the plaines,

276All our euening sport from vs is fled,

277All our loue is lost, for loue is dead,

278 Farewell sweet loue thy like nere was,

279 For a sweet content the cause all my woe,

280 Poore Coridon must liue alone,

281 Other helpe for him I see that there is none.