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Phyl. Phyllida, thy true love, calleth thee,
Arise then, arise then,

Arise and keep thy flock with me!

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

I come and keep my flock with thee.

Phyl. Here are cherries ripe for my Corydon;
Eat them for my sake.

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

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

A pair of stockings white as milk.

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

A bonnet to withstand the heat.

Phyl. I will gather flowers, my Corydon,
To set in thy cap.

Cor. I will gather pears, my lovely one,
To put in thy lap.

Phyl. 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.

Phyl. When my Corydon sits on a hill
Making melody-

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

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

Our Pan, that old Arcadian knight.

Cor. And methinks my true love bears the bell For clearness, for clearness,

Beyond the nymphs that be so bright.

Phyl. Had my Corydon, my Corydon,
Been, alack! her swain

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

Phyl. Cynthia Endymion had refused,
Preferring, preferring

My Corydon to play withal.

Cor. The Queen of Love had been excused
Bequeathing, bequeathing

My Phyllida the golden ball.

Phyl. Yonder comes my mother, Corydon,
Whither shall I fly?

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

Phyl. 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.

Anon.

7.

Summons to Love

PHOEBUS, arise!

And paint the sable skies

With azure, white, and red;

Rouse Memnon's mother from her Tithon's bed,
That she thy carriere may with roses spread;
The nightingales thy coming each-where sing;
Make an eternal Spring!

Give life to this dark world which lieth dead;
Spread forth thy golden hair

In larger locks than thou wast wont before,
And emperor-like decore

With diadem of pearl thy temples fair:

Chase hence the ugly night

Which serves but to make dear thy glorious light

This is that happy morn,

That day, long-wished day

Of all my life so dark,

(If cruel stars have not my ruin sworn

And fates not hope betray),

Which, only white, deserves

A diamond for ever should it mark.

This is the morn should bring unto this grove My Love, to hear and recompense my love. Fair King, who all preserves,

But show thy blushing beams,

And thou two sweeter eyes

Shalt see than those which by Penèus' streams Did once thy heart surprise.

Nay, suns, which shine as clear

As thou when two thou did to Rome appear.

Now, Flora, deck thyself in fairest guise:
If that ye, winds, would hear

A voice surpassing far Amphion's lyre,
Your stormy chiding stay;

Let Zephyr only breathe,
And with her tresses play.

Kissing sometimes these purple ports of death.

The winds all silent are,
And Phoebus in his chair
Ensaffroning sea and air
Makes vanish every star:
Night like a drunkard reels

Beyond the hills, to shun his flaming wheels:
The fields with flowers are deck'd in every hue,
The clouds with orient gold spangle their blue;
Here is the pleasant place —

And everything, save Her, who all should grace.

W. Drummond

8.

On a Fair Morning

N a fair morning, as I came by the way,

ON

Met I with a merry maid in the merry month of May;

When a sweet love sings his lovely lay

And every bird upon the bush bechirps it up so gay:

With a heave and a ho! with a heave and a ho!
Thy wife shall be thy master, I trow.

Sing, care away, care away, let the world go!
Hey, lustily all in a row, all in a row,

Sing, care away, care away, let the world go!

Anon.

9.

Stay, O Sweet

TAY, O sweet, and do not rise!

STA

The light that shines comes from thine eyes;

The day breaks not: it is my heart,

Because that you and I must part.

Stay! or else my joys will die,
And perish in their infancy.

'Tis true, 'tis day: what though it be? O, wilt thou therefore rise from me? Why should we rise because 'tis light? Did we lie down because 'twas night?

Love, which in spite of darkness brought us hither, Should in despite of light keep us together.

Light hath no tongue, but is all eye.

If it could speak as well as spy,

This were the worst that it could say:

That, being well, I fain would stay,

And that I lov'd my heart and honour so,

That I would not from him, that had them, go.

Must business thee from hence remove?

Oh, that's the worse disease of love!
The poor, the fool, the false, love can

Admit, but not the busied man.

He, which hath business, and makes love, doth do Such wrong, as when a married man doth woo.

J. Donne

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