Harpalus

Oh, Harpalus! (thus would he say)

Unhappiest under sunne!

The cause of thine unhappy day,

By love was first begunne.

Thou wentest first by sute to seeke

A tigre to make tame,

That settes not by thy love a leeke;

But makes thy griefe her game.

As easy it were to convert

The forest into a flame;

As for to turne a frowarde hert,

Whom thou so faine wouldst frame.

Corin, he liveth carelesse:

He leapes among the leaves:

He eats the frutes of thy redresse:

Thou "reapst" he takes the sheaves.