A pair of mattrass beds,
And a bag full of shreds;

And yet for all this goods

Phillada flouts me!

She hath a clout of mine,

Wrought with good Coventry,

Which she keeps for a sign

Of my fidelity.

But i' faith, if she flinch,
She shall not wear it;

To Tibb, my t' other wench,
I mean to bear it.

And yet it grieves my heart

So soon from her to part!

Death strikes me with his dart!

Phillada flouts me!

Thou shalt eat curds and cream

All the year lasting;

And drink the crystal stream,

Pleasant in tasting:

Wigge and whey, whilst thou burst,

And ramble-berry,

Pye-lid and pasty-crust,

Pears, plumbs, and cherry;

Thy raiment shall be thin,
Made of a weaver's skin.—

Yet, all's not worth a pin!
Phillada flouts me!

Fair maidens, have a care,
And in time take me;

I can have those as fair,
If you forsake me:
For Doll the dairy-maid

Laugh'd on me lately,
And wanton Winifred

Favours me greatly.

One throws milk on my clothes, T'other plays with my nose: '

What wanton signs are those? Phillada flouts me!

I cannot work and sleep

All at a season;

Love wounds my heart so deep,

Without all reason.

I 'gin to pine away,

With grief and sorrow,

Like to a fatted beast

Penn'd in a meadow.

I shall be dead,

fear,

Within this thousand year,

And all for very fear!

Phillada flouts me!

SONG.

[From "the British Miscellany," where it is stated to be copied from an ancient MS.]

POOR Chloris wept, and from her eyes
The liquid tears ran trickling down;
(Such melting drops might well suffice
To pay a ransom for a crown)
And as she wept, she sighing said,
"Alas for me, unhappy maid,
"That by my folly am betray'd!

"But when those eyes (unhappy eyes!)
"Met with the object of my woe,
"Methought our souls did sympathize,
"And it was death to hear a no.

"He woo'd; I granted; then befell
"My shame, which I do shame to tell:-
"O that I had not lov'd so well!

"And had I been so wise as not
"T have yielded up my virgin fort;
My name had been without a blot,
"And thwarted th' envy of report.
"But now, my shame hath made me be
"A butt for time to point at me,
"And but a mark of misery.

"But now, in sorrow must I sit,

"And pensive thoughts possess my breast;

"My silly soul with cares is split,

"And grief denies me wonted rest.

"Come then, black night, and screen me round,

"That I may never more be found,

"Unless in tears of sorrow drown'd!"

[From an old MS. in Mr. Lloyd's Collection.]

YE nimble dreams, with cobweb wings,
That fly by night from brain to brain,

And represent a world of things,
With much ado and little pain!

You, that find out the shortest ways
Through every cranny, hole, or wall,

That no perdues your passing stays,
Nor jealousy, that catcheth all!

You visit ladies in their beds,

And are so lusty in their ease,

You put fine fancies in their heads!

You make them think on what you please!

How highly am I bound to ye,
Safe messengers of secrecy,

That make my mistress think on me
Just in the place where I would be.

Oh! would I might myself prefer,
To be in place of one of you!

Not for to visit, but serve her,

That she may swear the dream was true.

UPON HIS MISTRESS'S INCONSTANCY.

[From the same MS.]

THOU art pretty, but inconstant,

Too, too lovely to be true!
Thine affections, in an instant,

Struggle which shall first be new: