SONG OF PARIS AND ENONE

ENONE. Fair and fair, and twice so fair,
As fair as any may be;
The fairest shepherd on our green,
A love for any lady.

PARIS. Fair and fair, and twice so fair,
As fair as any may be;

Thy love is fair for thee alone,
And for no other lady.

Ex. My love is fair, my love is gay,

As fresh as bin the flowers in May,
And of my love my roundelay,
My merry, merry roundelay,
Concludes with Cupid's curse,

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I I

"They that do change old love for

There is a garden in her face

Where roses and white lilies blow; A heavenly paradise is that place, Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow:

There cherries grow which none may buy

Till "Cherry-ripe" themselves do cry.

Those cherries fairly do enclose

Of orient pearl a double row, Which when her lovely laughter shows, They look like rosebuds fill'd with snow; Yet them nor peer nor prince can buy Till "Cherry-ripe" themselves do cry. Her eyes like angels watch them still; 1

Her brows like bended bows do stand
Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill
All that attempt with eye or hand

Those sacred cherries to come nigh
Till "Cherry-ripe" themselves do cry.
- THOMAS CAMPION (d. 1619)

ENGLAND'S HELICON (1600)

PHYLLIDA AND CORYDON

Thus with many a pretty oath,

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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 Phyllida, with garlands gay,
Was made the Lady of the May.
-N. BRETON (1545?-1626?)

AS IT FELL UPON A DAY

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As it fell upon a day,

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In the merry month of May,

Sitting in a pleasant shade,

Which a group of myrtles made,
Beasts did leap and birds did sing,
Trees did grow and plants did spring,
Everything did banish moan,
Save the nightingale alone;
She, poor bird, as all forlorn,
Lean'd her breast against a thorn,
And there sung the dolefull'st ditty,
That to hear it was great pity.
"Fie, fic, fie!" now would she cry;
"Teru, teru!" 2 by-and-by.
That to hear her so complain

Scarce I could from tears refrain;
For her griefs so lively shown
Made me think upon mine own.
Ah, thought I, thou mourn'st in vain,
None takes pity on thy pain.

Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee;
Ruthless beasts, they will not cheer thee;
King Pandion 3 he is dead,

All thy friends are lapp'd in lead;

All thy fellow birds do sing,

Careless of thy sorrowing;

Even so, poor bird, like thee,
None alive will pity me.

- IGNOTO

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PHYLLIDA'S LOVE-CALL ΤΟ HER CORYDON, AND HIS REPLYING

PHYL. Corydon, arise my Corydon !
Titan shineth clear.

COR. Who is it that calleth Corydon?
Who is it that I hear?

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MELI. FAUST.

It is perhaps that sauncing bell 1
That tolls all in to heaven or hell:
And this is Love, as I hear tell. 6
Yet what is Love, I prithee say?
It is a work on holiday,
It is December match'd with May,
When lusty bloods in fresh array

Hear ten months after of the play:
And this is Love, as I hear say. 12
MELI. Yet what is Love, good shepherd,
sain 2?
FAUST. It is a sunshine mix'd with rain,
It is a tooth ache, or like pain,
It is a game, where none doth gain;
The lass saith no, and would full

fain:.

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And this is Love, as I hear sain. 18 Yet, shepherd, what is Love, I pray?

FAUST. It is a yea, it is a nay,

PHYL. Cynthia Endymion had refused,

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A pretty kind of sporting fray,
It is a thing will soon away,
Then, nymphs, take vantage while

1 Sanctus bell