gods themselves his cruel darts do daunt,
And he, blind boy, smiles at their misery.
Love made great Jove ofttimes transform his shape;
Love made the fierce Alcides stoop at last;
Achilles, stout and bold, could not escape
The direful doom which love upon him cast;
Love made Leander pass the dreadful flood
Which Cestos from Abydos doth divide;
Love made a chaos where proud Ilion stood,
Through love the Carthaginian Dido died.
Thus may we see how love doth rule and reigns,
Bringing those under which his power disdains.

XXVI

Though you be fair and beautiful withal,
And I am black for which you me despise,
Know that your beauty subject is to fall,
Though you esteem it at so high a price.
And time may come when that whereof you boast,
Which is your youth's chief wealth and ornament,
Shall withered be by winter's raging frost,
When beauty's pride and flowering years are spent.
Then wilt thou mourn when none shall thee respect;
Then wilt thou think how thou hast scorned my tears;
Then pitiless each one will thee neglect,
When hoary grey shall dye thy yellow hairs;
Then wilt thou think upon poor Corin's case,
Who loved thee dear, yet lived in thy disgrace.

XXVII

O Love, leave off with sorrow to torment me;
Let my heart's grief and pining pain content thee!
The breach is made, I give thee leave to enter;
Thee to resist, great god, I dare not venter!
Restless desire doth aggravate mine anguish,
Careful conceits do fill my soul with languish.
Be not too cruel in thy conquest gained,
Thy deadly shafts hath victory obtained;
Batter no more my fort with fierce affection,
But shield me captive under thy protection.
I yield to thee, O Love, thou art the stronger,
Raise then thy siege and trouble me no longer!

XXVIII

What cruel star or fate had domination
When I was born, that thus my love is crossed?
Or from what planet had I derivation
That thus my life in seas of woe is crossed?
Doth any live that ever had such hap
That all their actions are of none effect,
Whom fortune never dandled in her lap
But as an abject still doth me reject?
Ah tickle dame! and yet thou constant art
My daily grief and anguish to increase,
And to augment the troubles of my heart