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.
THE NYMPH'S REPLY.
SIR WALTER RALEIGH, born 1552, died 1618.
IF all the world and love were young,
And truth on every Shepherd's tongue,
These pleasures might my passion move,
To live with thee, and be thy love.
But fading flowers in every field,
To winter floods their treasures yield;
A honey'd tongue, a heart of gall,
Is Fancy's spring, but Sorrow's fall.
Thy gown, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,
Are all soon wither'd, broke, forgotten,
In Folly ripe, in Reason rotten.
Thy belt of straw, and ivy-buds,
Thy coral clasps, and amber studs,
Can me with no enticements move,
To live with thee, and be thy love.
But could Youth last, could Love still breed
Had Joy no date, had Age no need;
Then those delights my mind might move,
To live with thee, and be thy love.
Originally printed with the signature of "Ignoto."
PHILLIS THE FAIR.
NICHOLAS BRETON, born 1555, died 16—
On a hill there grows a flower,
Fair befall the dainty sweet!
By that flower, there is a bower
Where the heavenly muses meet.
In that bower there is a chair,
Fringed all about with gold, Where doth sit the fairest fair,
That ever eye did yet behold.
It is Phillis, fair and bright,
She that is the shepherd's joy, She that Venus did despite,
And did blind her little boy.
Who would not that face admire?
Who would not this saint adore? Who would not this sight desire ?
Though he thought to see no more.
Thou that art the shepherd's queen,
Look upon thy love-sick swain;
By thy comfort have been seen,
Dead men brought to life again.
In the merry month of May,
In a morn by break of day,
With a troop of damsels playing
Forth-'I went-forsooth a maying,
When anon by a wood side,
Where as May was in his pride
I espied all alone,
Phillida and Corydon.
Much ado there was, GoD wot;
He would love and she would not.
She said, never man was true;
He says, none was false to you,
He said, he had loved her long:
She says, love should have no wrong.
Corydon would kiss her then:
She says, maids must kiss no men.
Till they do for good and all—
When she made the shepherd call
All the heavens to witness truth,
Never loved a truer youth.
Then with many a pretty oath,
Yea and nay, and faith and troth;
Such as silly shepherds use
When they will not love abuse;
Love, that had been long deluded,
Was with kisses sweet concluded;
And Phillida with garlands gay
Was made the lady of the May.
This song, as we learn from "Percy's Relics," was sung before Queen Elizabeth at Elvetham in Hampshire, as she opened the casement of her gallery window in the morning, by" three excellent musitians, disguised in auncient country attire." The following version of the song is given in England's Helicon :
In the merry month of May,
In a morn by break of day,
Forth I walk'd by the wood-side,
When as May was in his pride:
There I espied all alone,
Phillida and Corydon.
Much ado there was, GoD wot,
He would love and she would not.
She said never man was true,
He said, none was false to you,
He said he had lov'd her long,
She said, love should have no wrong.
Coridon would kiss her then,
She said, maids must kiss no men,
Till they did for good and all:
Then she made the shepherd call
All the heavens to witness truth:
Never lov'd a truer youth.
Thus with many a pretty oath,
Yea and nay, and faith and troth,
Such as silly shepherds use
When they will not love abuse.
Love which had been long deluded,
Was with kisses sweet concluded.
And Phillida with garlands gay,
Was made the lady of the May.-N. BRETON.
YE LITTLE BIRDS THAT SIT AND SING.
From THOMAS HEYWOOD'S "Fairy Maide of the Exchange," 1615.
YE little birds that sit and sing
Amidst the shady vallies,
And see how Phillis 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.
Sing to her 'tis her lover true
That sendeth love by you and you,
And when you hear her kind reply,
Return with pleasant warblings.
WHAT PLEASURE HAVE GREAT PRINCES.
From BYRD's "Songs and Sonnets of Sadness and Pietie," 1588.
WHAT pleasure have great princes,
More dainty to their choice,
Than herdmen wild, who careless,
In quiet life rejoice,
And fortune's fate not fearing,
Sing sweet in summer morning?
Their dealings plain and rightful,
Are void of all deceit ;
They never know how spiteful
It is to kneel and wait,
On favourite presumptuous,
Whose pride is vain and sumptuous.
All day their flocks each tendeth,
At night they take their rest,
More quiet than he who sendeth
His ship into the east ;
Where gold and pearl are plenty,
But getting very dainty.
For lawyers and their pleading
They 'steem it not a straw;
They think that honest meaning
Is of itself a law,
Where conscience judgeth plainly;
They spend no money vainly.
Oh, happy who thus liveth,
Not caring much for gold,
With clothing which sufficeth
To keep him from the cold,
Though poor and plain his diet,
Yet merry it is, and quiet.
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