SIR EDWARD DYER. 1540-161-. ["England's Helicon." 1600.] TO PHILLIS, THE FAIR SHEPHERDESS. My Phillis hath the morning sun, My Phillis hath morn-waking birds, My Phillis hath prime-feathered flowers, And Phillis hath a gallant flock, That leaps since she doth own them. But Phillis hath too hard a heart, Alas, that she should have it! It yields no mercy to desert, Nor grace to those that crave it: Sweet sun, when thou look'st Pray her regard my moan; on, Sweet birds, when you sing to her. And if in life her love she will agree me, NICHOLAS BRETON. 1555-1624. ["England's Helicon."] A PASTORAL OF PHILLIS AND CORIDON. On a hill there grows a flower, In that bower there is a chair, Fringéd all about with gold, It is Phillis, fair and bright, She that is the shepherd's joy: She that Venus did despite, And did blind her little boy. This is she, the wise, the rich, That the world desires to see: This is ipse qua, the which There is none but only she. Who would not this face admire? Who would not this saint adore? Who would not this sight desire, Though he thought to see no more O fair eyes, yet let me see One good look, and I am gone; Look on me, for I am he, Thy poor silly Coridon. Thou that art the shepherd's queen, By thy comfort have been seen Dead men brought to life again. CORIDON'S SUPPLICATION TO PHILLIS. Sweet Phillis, if a silly swain May sue to thee for grace, See not thy loving shepherd slain, But think what power thou hast got, Thou see'st they now regard me not, And if I have so far presumed, With prying in thine eyes; But as thou art that Phillis fair, So let not Love die in despair, The birds do pick the cherries: If it be so that thou hast sworn, ? Yet let me know thou dost not scorn To cast a look on me. But if thy beauty make thee proud, Should curse thee for unkind, Set down what he hath seen: That Phillida, with Love's content, Is sworn the Shepherd's Queen. FULKE GREVILE, LORD BROOKE. 1554-1628. "FULKE GREVILE, servant to Queen Elizabeth, Counsellor to King James, and friend to Sir Philip Sydney."-LORD BROOKE'S EPITAPH. [“England's Helicon."] OF HIS CYNTHIA. Away with these self-loving lads, And forceth none to kiss the rod. God Cupid's shafts, like destiny, Doth either good or ill decree: Reward upon his feet doth go. What fools are they that have not known That Love likes no laws but his own. My songs, they be of Cynthia's praise, I wear her rings on holidays; |