n,
When he casts off his withered coat and hue;
The sky-bred eagle fresh age doth obtain
When he his beak decayed doth renew.
I worse than these whose sore no salve can cure,
Whose grief no herb nor plant nor tree can ease;
Remediless, I still must pain endure,
Till I my Chloris' furious mood can please;
She like the scorpion gave to me a wound,
And like the scorpion she must make me sound.

XX

Ye wasteful woods, bear witness of my woe,
Wherein my plaints did oftentimes abound;
Ye careless birds my sorrows well do know,
They in your songs were wont to make a sound!
Thou pleasant spring canst record likewise bear
Of my designs and sad disparagement,
When thy transparent billows mingled were
With those downfalls which from mine eyes were sent!
The echo of my still-lamenting cries,
From hollow vaults in treble voice resoundeth,
And then into the empty air it flies,
And back again from whence it came reboundeth.
That nymph unto my clamors doth reply,
Being likewise scorned in love as well as I.

XXI

Being likewise scorned in love as well as I
By that self-loving boy, which did disdain
To hear her after him for love to cry,
For which in dens obscure she doth remain;
Yet doth she answer to each speech and voice,
And renders back the last of what we speak,
But specially, if she might have her choice,
She of unkindness would her talk forth break.
She loves to hear of love's most sacred name,
Although, poor nymph, in love she was despised;
And ever since she hides her head for shame,
That her true meaning was so lightly prised;
She pitying me, part of my woes doth bear,
As you, good shepherds, listening now shall hear.

XXII

O fairest fair, to thee I make my plaint,
(_my plaint_)
To thee from whom my cause of grief doth spring;
(_doth spring_)
Attentive be unto the groans, sweet saint,
(_sweet saint_)
Which unto thee in doleful tunes I sing.
(_I sing_)
My mournful muse doth always speak of thee;
(_of thee_)
My love is pure, O do it not dis