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Phillidaes Loue-call to her Coridon, and his replying.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Phillidaes Loue-call to her Coridon, and his replying.

Phil.
Coridon , arise my Coridon,
Titan shineth cleare:

Cor.
Who is it that calleth Coridon,
who is it that I heare?

Phil. Phillida
thy true-Loue calleth thee,
arise then, arise then;
arise and keepe thy flock with me:

Cor. Phillida
my true-Loue, is it she?
I come then, I come then,
I come and keepe my flock with thee.

Phil.
Heere are cherries ripe my Coridon,
eate them for my sake:

Cor.
Heere's my Oaten pipe my louely one,
sport for thee to make.

Phil.
Heere are threeds my true-Loue, fine as silke,
to knit thee, to knit thee
a paire of stockings white as milke.

Cor.
Heere are Reedes my true-Loue, fine and neate,
to make thee, to make thee
a Bonnet to with-stand the heate.

Phil.
I will gather flowers my Coridon,
to set in thy cap:



Cor.
I will gather Peares my louely one,
to put in thy lap.

Phil.
I will buy my true-Loue Garters gay,
for Sundayes, for Sundayes,
to weare about his legs so tall:

Cor.
I will buy my true-Loue yellow Say,
for Sundayes, for Sundayes,
to weare about her middle small.

Phil.
When my Coridon sits on a hill,
making melodie:

Cor.
When my louely one goes to her wheele
singing cherilie.

Phil.
Sure me thinks my true-Loue dooth excell
for sweetnes, for sweetnes,
our Pan that old Arcadian Knight:

Cor.
And me thinks my true-Loue beares the bell
for clearenes, for clearenes,
beyond the Nimphs that be so bright.

Phil.
Had my Coridon, my Coridon,
beene (alack) my Swaine:

Cor.
Had my louely one, my louely one,
beene in Jda plaine.

Phil.
Cinthia Endimion had refus'd,
preferring, preferring
my Coridon to play with-all:

Cor.
The Queene of Loue had beene excus'd,
bequeathing, bequeathing,
my Phillida the golden ball.

Phil.
Yonder comes my Mother, Coridon,
whether shall I flie?

Cor.
Vnder yonder Beech my louely one,
while she passeth by.
Say to her thy true-Loue was not heere,
remember, remember,
to morrow is another day:



Phil.
Doubt me not, my true-Loue, doo not feare,
farewell then, farewell then,
heauen keepe our loues alway.

FINIS.
Ignoto.