Lastly to thee, O Pan, the shepherds’ king,
      And you swift-footed Dryades I call;
      Attend to hear a swain in verse to sing
      Sonnets of her that keeps his heart in thrall! 
    O Chloris, weigh the task I undertake! 
    Thy beauty subject of my song I make.

    II

    Thy beauty subject of my song I make,
      O fairest fair, on whom depends my life! 
      Refuse not then the task I undertake,
      To please thy rage and to appease my strife;
    But with one smile remunerate my toil,
      None other guerdon I of thee desire. 
      Give not my lowly muse new-hatched the foil,
      But warmth that she may at the length aspire
    Unto the temples of thy star-bright eyes,
      Upon whose round orbs perfect beauty sits,
      From whence such glorious crystal beams arise,
      As best my Chloris’ seemly face befits;
    Which eyes, which beauty, which bright crystal beam,
    Which face of thine hath made my love extreme.

    III

    Feed, silly sheep, although your keeper pineth,
      Yet like to Tantalus doth see his food. 
      Skip you and leap, no bright Apollo shineth,
      Whilst I bewail my sorrows in yon wood,
    Where woeful Philomela doth record,
      And sings with notes of sad and dire lament
      The tragedy wrought by her sisters’ lord;
      I’ll bear a part in her black discontent. 
    That pipe which erst was wont to make you glee
      Upon these downs whereon you careless graze,
      Shall to her mournful music tuned be. 
      Let not my plaints, poor lambkins, you amaze;
    There underneath that dark and dusky bower,
    Whole showers of tears to Chloris I will pour.

    IV

    Whole showers of tears to Chloris I will pour,
      As true oblations of my sincere love,
      If that will not suffice, most fairest flower,
      Then shall my sighs thee unto pity move. 
    If neither tears nor sighs can aught prevail,
      My streaming blood thine anger shall appease,
      This hand of mine by vigour shall assail
      To tear my heart asunder thee to please. 
    Celestial powers on you I invocate;
      You know the chaste affections of my mind,
      I never did my faith yet violate;
      Why should my Chloris then be so unkind? 
    That neither tears, nor sighs, nor streaming blood,
    Can unto mercy move her cruel mood.

    V

    You fawns and silvans, when my Chloris brings
      Her flocks to water in your pleasant plains,
      Solicit her to pity Corin’s strings,
      The smart whereof for her he still sustains. 
    For she is ruthless of my woeful song;
      My oaten reed she not delights to hear. 
      O Chloris, Chloris!  Corin thou dost wrong,
      Who loves thee better than his own heart dear.