Her poultry, and her bees, Phillada flouts me! She hath a clout of mine, Wrought with good Coventry, Which she keeps for a sign Of my fidelity. But i' faith, if she flinch, And yet it grieves my heart So soon from her to part! Death strikes me with his dart! Phillada flouts me! Thou shalt eat curds and cream All the year lasting; And drink the crystal stream, Pleasant in tasting: Whig and whey, whilst thou burst, And ramble-berry, Pye-lid and pastry-crust, Pears, plumbs, and cherry; Thy raiment shall be thin, Made of a weaver's skin. Yet, all's not worth a pin! Phillada flouts me! Fair maidens, have a care, I can have those as fair, If you forsake me: For Doll the dairy-maid Laugh'd on me lately, And wanton Winifred Favours me greatly. One throws milk on my clothes, T'other plays with my nose : What wanton signs are those? Phillada flouts me! I cannot work and sleep All at a season; Love wounds my heart so deep, Without all reason. I 'gin to pine away, With grief and sorrow, [From "The British Miscellany," where it is stated to be copied from an ancient MS.*] POOR Chloris wept, and from her eyes "But when those eyes (unhappy eyes!) * It is alsó to be found with some variations in the Westminster and Windsor Drolleries. "He woo'd; I granted; then befell' "My shame, which I do shame to tell :- "And had I been so wise as not "T" have yielded up my virgin fort; "My name had been without a blot, "And thwarted th' envy of report. "But now, my shame hath made me be "A butt for time to point at me, "And but a mark of misery. "But, now, in sorrow must I sit, "And pensive thoughts possess my breast; "My silly soul with cares is split, "And grief denies me wonted rest. "Come then, black night, and screen me round, "That I may never more be found, "Unless in tears of sorrow drown'd!" [From an old MS. in Mr Lloyd's Collection.] With much ado and little pain! You, that find out the shortest ways You visit ladies in their beds, And are so lusty in their ease; You put fine fancies in their heads! How highly am I bound to ye, Safe messengers of secrecy, That make my mistress think on me Just in the place where I would be. Oh! would I might myself prefer To be in place of one of you! Not for to visit, but serve her, That she may swear the dream was true. Upon his Mistress's Inconstancy. [From the same MS.] THOU art pretty, but inconstant, Too, too lovely to be true! |