XXXVII

    Each beast in field doth wish the morning light;
      The birds to Hesper pleasant lays do sing;
      The wanton kids well-fed rejoice in night,
      Being likewise glad when day begins to spring. 
    But night nor day are welcome unto me,
      Both can bear witness of my lamentation;
      All day sad sighing Corin you shall see,
      All night he spends in tears and exclamation. 
    Thus still I live although I take no rest,
      But living look as one that is a-dying;
      Thus my sad soul with care and grief oppressed,
      Seems as a ghost to Styx and Lethe flying. 
    Thus hath fond love bereft my youthful years
    Of all good hap before old age appears.

    XXXVIII

    That day wherein mine eyes cannot her see,
      Which is the essence of their crystal sight,
      Both blind, obscure and dim that day they be,
      And are debarred of fair heaven’s light;
    That day wherein mine ears do want to hear her,
      Hearing that day is from me quite bereft;
      That day wherein to touch I come not near her,
      That day no sense of touching I have left;
    That day wherein I lack the fragrant smell,
      Which from her pleasant amber breath proceedeth,
      Smelling that day disdains with me to dwell,
      Only weak hope my pining carcase feedeth. 
    But burst, poor heart, thou hast no better hope,
    Since all thy senses have no further scope!

    XXXIX

    The stately lion and the furious bear
      The skill of man doth alter from their kind;
      For where before they wild and savage were,
      By art both tame and meek you shall them find. 
    The elephant although a mighty beast,
      A man may rule according to his skill;
      The lusty horse obeyeth our behest,
      For with the curb you may him guide at will. 
    Although the flint most hard contains the fire,
      By force we do his virtue soon obtain,
      For with a steel you shall have your desire,
      Thus man may all things by industry gain;
    Only a woman if she list not love,
    No art, nor force, can unto pity move.

    XL

    No art nor force can unto pity move
      Her stony heart that makes my heart to pant;
      No pleading passions of my extreme love
      Can mollify her mind of adamant. 
    Ah cruel sex, and foe to all mankind,
      Either you love or else you hate too much! 
      A glist’ring show of gold in you we find,
      And yet you prove but copper in the touch. 
    But why, O why, do I so far digress? 
      Nature you made of pure and fairest mould,
      The pomp and glory of man to depress,
      And as your slaves in thraldom them to hold;
    Which by experience now too well I prove,
    There is no pain unto the pains of love.