No sooner had fair Phoebus trimmed his car,
Being newly risen from Aurora's bed,
But I in whom despair and hope did war,
My unpenned flock unto the mountains led.
Tripping upon the snow-soft downs I spied
Three nymphs more fairer than those beautys three
Which did appear to Paris on mount Ide.
Coming more near, my goddess I there see;
For she the field-nymphs oftentimes doth haunt,
To hunt with them the fierce and savage boar;
And having sported virelays they chaunt,
Whilst I unhappy helpless cares deplore.
There did I call to her, ah too unkind!
But tiger-like, of me she had no mind.