Such as silly shepherds use Nicholas Breton. TO COLIN CLOUT. Beauty sat bathing by a spring, Into a slumber then I fell, When fond imagination Seemed to see, but could not tell But even as babes in dreams do smile So I awaked, as wise this while, Hey nonnie, nonnie, &c. Shepherd Tonie. PHILLIDA'S LOVE-CALL TO HER CORYDON, AND HIS REPLYING. Phil. Corydon, arise my Corydon, Cor. Titan shineth clear. Who is it that calleth Corydon, Who is it that I hear? Phil. Phillida thy true love calleth thee, Arise then, arise then ; Arise and keep thy flock with me. Cor. Phillida, my true love, is it she? I come and keep my flock with thee. Phil. Here are cherries ripe my Corydon, Cor. Eat them for my sake. Here's my oaten pipe, my lovely one, Phil. Here are threads, my true love, fine as silk, Cor. A pair of stockings white as milk. Here are reeds, my true love, fine and neat, A bonnet to withstand the heat. Phil. I will gather flowers my Corydon, Cor. To set in thy cap. I will gather pears, my lovely one, Phil. I will buy my true love garters gay, Cor. To wear about his legs so tall. To wear about her middle small. Phil. When my Corydon sits on a hill Cor. Making melody: When my lovely one goes to her wheel, Phil. Sure methinks my true love doth excel Cor. Our Pan that old Arcadian knight. Beyond the nymphs that be so bright. Phil. Had my Corydon, my Corydon, Been (alack) her2 swain: 1 Thin serge: Fr. saie. 2 The editions give 'my.' Cor. Had my lovely one, my lovely one, Phil. Cynthia Endymion had refus'd, Cor. My Corydon to play withal: My Phillida the golden ball. Phil. Yonder comes my mother, Corydon, Cor. Whither shall I fly? Under yonder beech my lovely one, Phil. Say to her thy true love was not here: Cor. Remember, remember, To-morrow is another day. Doubt me not, my true love, do not fear: Heaven keep our loves alway. Ignoto. [From Davison's Poetical Rapsody, 1602.] A FICTION: HOW CUPID MADE A NYMPH WOUND HERSELF WITH HIS ARROWS. It chanc'd of late a shepherd's swain, Her golden hair o'erspread her face, The shepherd stood and gaz'd his fill; The crafty boy that sees her sleep, There come, he steals her shafts away, But ere she wakes, hies thence apace, Scarce was he gone when she awakes, Forth flew the shaft and pierc'd his heart, Amaz'd to see so strange a sight, She shot, and shot, but all in vain; Her angry eyes are great with tears, She blames her hands, she blames her skill; And try them on herself she will. Take heed, sweet Nymph, try not thy shaft, Yet try she will, and prick some bare, That breast she prick'd, and through that breast At feeling of this new-come guest, Lord, how the gentle Nymph doth start! She runs not now, she shoots no more; Anon., but attributed to 'A. W. A SONNET OF THE MOON. Look how the pale Queen of the silent night Charles Best. SONNET. Were I as base as is the lowly plain, And you, my love, as high as heaven above, Were I as high as heaven above the plain, Wheresoe'er you were, with you my love should go, |