 | The Poems and Sonnets of Henry Constable |  |
x
A PASTORALL SONG BETWEENE PHILLIS AND AMARILLIS, TWO NIMPHES, EACH AUNSWERING OTHER LINE FOR LINE.
Fie on the sleights that men devise,
Heigh hoe, sillie sleights!
When simple Maydes they would entice;
Maides are yong men's chiefe delights.
Nay, women they witch with their eyes,
Eyes like beames of burning sunne;
And men once caught they soone despise;
So are Sheepheards oft undone.
Heigh hoe, sillie sleights!
When simple Maydes they would entice;
Maides are yong men's chiefe delights.
Nay, women they witch with their eyes,
Eyes like beames of burning sunne;
And men once caught they soone despise;
So are Sheepheards oft undone.
If any young man win a maide,
Happy man is he;
By trusting him she is betraide;
Fie upon such treacherie.
If Maides win young men with their guiles,
Heigh hoe, guilefull greefe!
They deale like weeping Crocodiles,
That murther men without releefe.
Happy man is he;
By trusting him she is betraide;
Fie upon such treacherie.
If Maides win young men with their guiles,
Heigh hoe, guilefull greefe!
They deale like weeping Crocodiles,
That murther men without releefe.
I know a simple country Hinde,
Heigh hoe, sillie swaine!
To whom faire Daphne prooved kinde,
Was he not kinde to her againe?
He vowed by Pan with many an oath,
Heigh hoe, Sheepheards' God is he!
Yet since hath chang'd, and broke his troath,
Troth-plight broke will plagued be.
Heigh hoe, sillie swaine!
To whom faire Daphne prooved kinde,
Was he not kinde to her againe?
He vowed by Pan with many an oath,
Heigh hoe, Sheepheards' God is he!
xi
Troth-plight broke will plagued be.
She had deceaved many a swaine,
Fie on false deceite!
And plighted troath to them in vaine,
There can be no greefe more great.
Her measure was with measure paide,
Heigh hoe, heigh hoe, equall meede!
She was beguil'd that had betraide,
So shall all deceavers speede.
Fie on false deceite!
And plighted troath to them in vaine,
There can be no greefe more great.
Her measure was with measure paide,
Heigh hoe, heigh hoe, equall meede!
She was beguil'd that had betraide,
So shall all deceavers speede.
If every Maide were like to me,
Heigh hoe, hard of hart!
Both love and lovers scorn'd should be,
Scorners shall be sure of smart.
If every Maide were of my minde,
Heigh hoe, heigh hoe, lovely sweete!
They to their lovers should proove kinde,
Kindnes is for maydens meete.
Heigh hoe, hard of hart!
Both love and lovers scorn'd should be,
Scorners shall be sure of smart.
If every Maide were of my minde,
Heigh hoe, heigh hoe, lovely sweete!
They to their lovers should proove kinde,
Kindnes is for maydens meete.
Me thinks love is an idle toy,
Heigh hoe, busie paine!
Both wit and sence it dooth annoy,
Both sence and wit thereby we gaine.
Tush, Phillis! cease, be not so coy;
Heigh hoe, heigh hoe, coy disdaine!
I know you love a Sheepheard's boy,
Fie, that Maydens so should faine!
Heigh hoe, busie paine!
Both wit and sence it dooth annoy,
Both sence and wit thereby we gaine.
Tush, Phillis! cease, be not so coy;
Heigh hoe, heigh hoe, coy disdaine!
I know you love a Sheepheard's boy,
Fie, that Maydens so should faine!
Well, Amarillis, now I yeeld;
Sheepheards, pipe aloude!
Love conquers both in towne and field,
Like a tirant fierce and proude.
The evening starre is up, ye see;
Vesper shines; we must away.
Would every Lover might agree,
So we end our Roundelay.
Sheepheards, pipe aloude!
Love conquers both in towne and field,
xii
The evening starre is up, ye see;
Vesper shines; we must away.
Would every Lover might agree,
So we end our Roundelay.
| The Poems and Sonnets of Henry Constable | |