Gateway to the Classics: Oxford Book of English Verse, Part 1 by Arthur Quiller-Couch
Oxford Book of English Verse, Part 1 by  Arthur Quiller-Couch

Phyllida's Love‑Call

From England's Helicon  (1600)

 Phyllida:   Corydon, arise, my Corydon!

Titan shineth clear.

Corydon:   Who is it that calleth Corydon?

Who is it that I hear?

 Phyllida:   Phyllida, thy true love, calleth thee,

Arise then, arise then,

Arise and keep thy flock with me!

Corydon:   Phyllida, my true love, is it she?

I come then, I come then,

I come and keep my flock with thee.

 Phyllida:   Here are cherries ripe for my Corydon;

Eat them for my sake.

Corydon:   Here's my oaten pipe, my lovely one,

Sport for thee to make.

 Phyllida:   Here are threads, my true love, fine as silk,

To knit thee, to knit thee,

A pair of stockings white as milk.

Corydon:   Here are reeds, my true love, fine and neat,

To make thee, to make thee,

A bonnet to withstand the heat.

 Phyllida:   I will gather flowers, my Corydon,

To set in thy cap.

Corydon:   I will gather pears, my lovely one,

To put in thy lap.

 Phyllida:   I will buy my true love garters gay,

For Sundays, for Sundays,

To wear about his legs so tall.

Corydon:   I will buy my true love yellow say,

For Sundays, for Sundays,

To wear about her middle small.

 Phyllida:   When my Corydon sits on a hill

Making melody—

Corydon:   When my lovely one goes to her wheel,

Singing cheerily—

 Phyllida:   Sure methinks my true love doth excel

For sweetness, for sweetness,

Our Pan, that old Arcadian knight.

Corydon:   And methinks my true love bears the bell

For clearness, for clearness,

Beyond the nymphs that be so bright.

 Phyllida:   Had my Corydon, my Corydon,

Been, alack! her swain—

Corydon:   Had my lovely one, my lovely one,

Been in Ida plain—

 Phyllida:   Cynthia Endymion had refused,

Preferring, preferring,

My Corydon to play withal.

Corydon:   The Queen of Love had been excused

Bequeathing, bequeathing,

My Phyllida the golden ball.

 Phyllida:   Yonder comes my mother, Corydon!

Whither shall I fly?

Corydon:   Under yonder beech, my lovely one,

While she passeth by.

 Phyllida:   Say to her thy true love was not here;

Remember, remember,

To-morrow is another day.

Corydon:   Doubt me not, my true love, do not fear;

Farewell then, farewell then!

Heaven keep our loves alway!

— Anonymous

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