WHAT need I mourn? seeing PAN, our sacred King,
Was, of that Nymph, fair SYRINX coy, disdained.
The World's great Light, which comforteth each
thing,
All comfortless for DAPHNE's sake remained.
If gods can find no help to heal the sore
Made by LOVE's shafts, which pointed are with fire;
Unhappy CORIN, then thy chance deplore!
Since they despair by wanting their desire.
I am not PAN, though I a shepherd be;
Yet is my Love as fair as SYRINX was.
My Song cannot with PHŒBUS's tunes agree;
Yet CHLORIS doth his DAPHNE far surpass.
How much more fair, by so much more unkind
Than SYRINX coy, or DAPHNE, I her find.