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Cor. Phillida, my true love, is it she?
I come then, I come then,

I come and keep my flock with thee! Phil. Here are cherries ripe for my Coridon; Eat them for my sake.

Cor. Here's my oaten pipe, my lovely one,
Sport for thee to make.

Phil. Here are threads, my true love, fine as silk,
To knit thee, to knit thee

A pair of stocking white as milk.

Cor. Here are reeds, my true love, fine and feat, To make thee, to make thee,

A bonnet, to withstand the heat.

Phil. I will gather flowers, my Coridon,
To set in thy cap.

Cor. I will gather pears, my lovely one,

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in thy lap.

Phil. I will buy my true love garters gay,

For Sundays, for Sundays,

To wear about his legs so tall.

Cor. I will buy my true love yellow say,
For Sundays, for Sundays,

To wear about her middle small.

Phil. When my Coridon sits on a hill
Making melody:

Cor. When my lovely one goes to her wheel,
Singing cherily,

Phil. Sure methinks my true love doth excel
For sweetness, for sweetness,

Sir Pan, that old Arcadian knight: Cor. Sure methinks my true love bears the bell For clearness, for clearness,

Beyond the nymphs that Syren hight.

Phil. Had my Coridon, my Coridon,

Been, alack, my swain:

Cor. Had my lovely one, my lovely one,
Been in Ida plain:

Phil. Cynthia Endymion had refus'd,

Preferring, preferring,

My Coridon to play with-all :

Cor. The queen of love had been excus'd
Bequeathing, bequeathing,

My Phillida the golden ball.

Phil. Yonder comes my mother, Coridon!
Whither shall I fly?

Cor. Under yonder beech, my lovely one,
While she passeth by.

Phil. Say to her thy true love was not here:
Remember, remember,

To-morrow is another day!

Cor. Doubt me not, my true love; do not fear; Farewell then, farewell then;

Heaven keep our loves alway!

The Shepherd's Slumber.

IN Pescod time, when hound to horn
Gives ear till buck be kill'd,
And little lads with pipes of corn
Sate keeping beasts a-field,
I went to gather strawberries tho',
By woods and groves full fair;
And parch'd my face with Phoebus so,

In walking in the air,

That down I laid me by a stream,

With boughs all over clad;

And there I met the strangest dream,
That ever shepherd had.

Methought I saw each Christmas game,

Each revel all and some;

And every thing that I can name,

Or may in fancy come.

The substance of the sights I saw,

In silence pass they shall;
Because I lack the skill to draw

The order of them all;

But Venus shall not pass my pen,
Whose maidens, in disdain,
Did feed upon the hearts of men,
That Cupid's bow had slain.
And that blind boy was all in blood
Be-bath'd up to the ears:
And like a conqueror he stood,

And scorned lovers' tears.

"I have," quoth he, "more hearts at call, Than Cæsar could command, And like the deer I make them fall,

That runneth o'er the lawnd c. One drops down here, another there, In bushes as they groan;

I bend a scornful, careless ear,

To hear them make their moan."

"Ah, sir!" quoth Honest Meaning then,

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Thy boy-like brags I hear,

When thou hast wounded many a man,

As huntsman doth the deer. Becomes it thee to triumph so?

Thy mother wills it not:

For she had rather break thy bow,

Than thou should'st play the sot."

"What saucy merchant speaketh now?"

Said Venus in her rage:

"Art thou so blind thou knowest not how

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My son doth shoot no shaft in waste;

To me the boy is bound:

He never found a heart so chaste,

But he had power to wound."

"Not so, fair goddess", quoth Free Will:

"In me there is a choice:

And cause I am of mine own ill,

If I in thee rejoice.

For lawn."

And when I yield myself a slave,
To thee, or to thy son,

Such recompense I ought not have,
If things be rightly done."

"Why fool," stept forth Delight, and said,
"When thou art conquer'd thus:
Then lo dame Lust, that wanton maid,

Thy mistress is, I wus:

And Lust is Cupid's darling dear,
Behold her where she goes;

She creeps the milk-warm flesh so near,
She hides her under close,

Where many privy thoughts do dwell,
A heaven here on earth:

For they have never mind of hell,
They think so much on mirth."

"Be still, Good Meaning," quoth Good Sport, "Let Cupid triumph make :

For sure his kingdom shall be short,

If we no pleasure take.

Fair Beauty, and her play-feres gay,

The virgin's vestals too,

Shall sit, and with their fingers play,
As idle people do.

If Honest Meaning fall to frown,

And I Good Sport decay :

Then Venus' glory will come down,

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And they will pine away."

Indeed," quoth Wit, " this your device,

With strangeness must be wrought:

And where you see these women nice,

And looking to be sought,

With scowling brows their follies check,

And so give them the fig:

Let Fancy be no more at beck,

When Beauty looks so big."

When Venus heard how they conspir'd

To murder women so,

Methought, indeed, the house was fir'd,
With storms and lightning tho';

The thunder-bolt through windows burst,
And in there steps a wight,

Which seem'd some soul or sprite accurst,
So ugly was the sight!

"I charge you, ladies all," quoth he,
"Look to yourselves in haste,
For if that men so wilful be,

And have their thoughts so chaste,
That they can tread on Cupid's breast,
And march on Venus' face,

Then they shall sleep in quiet rest,

When you shall wail your case."

With that had Venus, all in spite,
Stirr'd up the dames to ire;
And Lust fell-cold, and Beauty white,

Sat babbling with Desire,

Whose muttering words I might not mark;

Much whispering there arose :

The day did lower, the sun wax'd dark;

Away each lady goes.

But whither went this angry flock?
Our Lord himself doth know:

Wherewith full loudly crew the cock,

And I awaked so.

"A dream!" quoth I, " a dog it is,
I take thereon no keep:

I 'gage my head, such toys as this
Doth spring from lack of sleep!"

De Morte.

MAN'S life's a tragedy: his mother's womb,
From which he enters, is the tiring room;
This spacious earth the theatre; and the stage
That country which he lives in: passions, rage,

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