And we will sit upon the rocks,
And see the shepherds feed their flocks
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.
And I will make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies;
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle.
A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair-lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold.
A belt of straw and ivy-buds
With coral clasps and amber studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me and be my Love.
The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my Love.
F all the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd's tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee and be thy Love.
But Time drives flocks from field to fold;
Where rivers rage and rocks grow cold;
And Philomel becometh dumb,
The rest complains of cares to come.
The flowers do fade, the wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning yields:
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy's spring but sorrow's fall.
Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy bed of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,
Soon break, soon wither soon forgotten,
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.
Thy belt of straw and ivy-buds,
Thy coral clasps and amber studs,
All these in me no means can move
To come to thee and be thy Love.
But could youth last, and love still breed,
Had joys no date, nor age no need,
Then those delights my mind might move
To live with thee and be thy Love.
E little birds that sit and sing
Amidst the shady valleys,
And see how Phyllis sweetly walks
Within her garden-alleys;
Go pretty birds, about her bower;
Sing pretty birds, she may not lower;
Ah, me! methinks I see her frown!
Ye pretty wantons warble.
Go tell her through your chirping bills,
As you by me are bidden,
To her is only known my love
Which from the world is hidden.
Go pretty birds and tell her so,
See that your notes strain not too low,
For still, methinks, I see her frown;
Ye pretty wantons warble.
Go tune your voices' harmony
And sing, I am her lover;
Strain loud and sweet, that every note
With sweet content may move her:
And she that hath the sweetest voice,
Tell her I will not change my choice;
Yet still, methinks, I see her frown!
Ye pretty wantons warble.
O fly! make haste! see, see, she falls
Into a pretty slumber!
Sing round about her rosy bed
That waking she may wonder:
Say to her, 'tis her lover true
That sendeth love to you, to you;
And when you hear her kind reply,
Return with pleasant warblings.
BLITHE and bonny country lass,
Heigh ho, the bonny lass!
Sat sighing on the tender grass,
And weeping said, "Will none come woo me?" A smicker boy, a lither swain,
Heigh ho, a smicker swain!
That in his love was wanton fain,
With smiling looks straight came unto her.
When as the wanton wench espied,
Heigh ho, when she espied!
The means to make herself a bride,
She simpered smooth like bonnybell:
The swain that saw her squint-eyed kind,
Heigh ho, squint-eyed kind!
His arms about her body twined,
And "Fair lass, how fare ye well?"
The country kit said, "Well forsooth,
Heigh ho, well forsooth!
But that I have a longing tooth,
A longing tooth that makes me cry."
Alas! said he, "what gars thy grief?
Heigh ho, what gars thy grief? "
"A wound," quoth she, "without relief:
I fear a maid that I shall die."
"If that be all," the shepherd said,
"Heigh ho," the shepherd said,
"I'll make thee wive it, gentle maid,
And so recure thy malady."
Hereon they kissed with many an oath,
Heigh ho, with many an oath,
And 'fore God Pan did plight their troth,
And to the church they hied them fast.
And God send every pretty peat,
Heigh ho, the pretty peat!
That fears to die of this conceit,
So kind a friend to help at last.
My true-love hath my heart, and I have his,
MY
By just exchange one for another given:
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss,
There never was a better bargain driven:
My true-love hath my heart, and I have his.
His heart in me keeps him and me in one,
My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides:
He loves my heart, for once it was his own,
I cherish his because in me it bides:
My true-love hath my heart, and I have his.
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