A pair of mattrass beds, 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, To Tibb, my t' other wench, 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, Yet, all's not worth a pin! Fair maidens, have a care, I can have those as fair, Laugh'd on me lately, 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 "But when those eyes (unhappy eyes!) "He woo'd; I granted; then befell "And had I been so wise as not "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, And represent a world of things, You, that find out the shortest ways That no perdues your passing stays, 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, That make my mistress think on me Oh! would I might myself prefer, 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! Struggle which shall first be new: |