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Amintas, thou didst pine with care,

Because the fates by their untimely doom

Of life bereft thy loving Phillis fair,

When thy love's spring did first begin to bloom.

My care doth countervail that care of thine,

And yet my Chloris draws her angry breath;

My hopes still hoping hopeless now repine,

For living she doth add to me but death.

Thy Phinis, dying, lovèd thee full dear;

My Chloris, living, hates poor Corin's love,

Thus doth my woe as great as thine appear,

Though sundry accents both our sorrows move.

Thy swan-like songs did show thy dying anguish;

These weeping truce-men show I living languish.