do my kids about me leap and spring
As they were wont, but when they hear me cry
They likewise cry and fill the air with bleating;
Then do my sheep upon the cold earth lie,
And feed no more, my griefs they are repeating.
O Chloris, if thou then saw'st them and me
I'm sure thou wouldst both pity them and me!

XLVII

I need not tell thee of the lily white,
Nor of the roseate red which doth thee grace,
Nor of thy golden hairs like Phoebus bright,
Nor of the beauty of thy fairest face.
Nor of thine eyes which heavenly stars excel,
Nor of thine azured veins which are so clear,
Nor of thy paps where Love himself doth dwell,
Which like two hills of violets appear.
Nor of thy tender sides, nor belly soft,
Nor of thy goodly thighs as white as snow,
Whose glory to my fancy seemeth oft
That like an arch triumphal they do show.
All these I know that thou dost know too well,
But of thy heart too cruel I thee tell.

XLVIII

But of thy heart too cruel I thee tell,
Which hath tormented my young budding age,
And doth, unless your mildness passions quell,
My utter ruin near at hand presage.
Instead of blood which wont was to display
His ruddy red upon my hairless face,
By over-grieving that is fled away,
Pale dying colour there hath taken place.
Those curled locks which thou wast wont to twist
Unkempt, unshorn, and out of order been;
Since my disgrace I had of them no list,
Since when these eyes no joyful day have seen
Nor never shall till you renew again
The mutual love which did possess us twain.

XLIX

You that embrace enchanting poesy,
Be gracious to perplexed Corin's lines;
You that do feel love's proud authority,
Help me to sing my sighs and sad designs.
Chloris, requite not faithful love with scorn,
But as thou oughtest have commiseration;
I have enough anatomised and torn
My heart, thereof to make a pure oblation.
Likewise consider how thy Corin prizeth
Thy parts above each absolute perfection,
How he of every precious thing deviseth
To make thee sovereign. Grant me then affection!
Else thus I prize thee: Chloris is alone
More hard than gold or pearl or precious stone.

***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ELIZABETHAN SONNET CYCLES***