To Phyllis the fair Shepherdess

My Phyllis hath the morning sun,
At first to look upon her;
And Phyllis hath morn-waking birds.
Her risings still to honour.
My Phyllis hath prime-feather'd flowers.
That smile when she treads on them;
And Phyllis hath a gallant flock,
That leaps since she doth own them.
But Phyllis hath too hard a heart,
Alas, that she should have it!

It yields no mercy to desert,
Nor grace to those that crave it.
Sweet sun, when thou look's.! on,
Pray her regard my moan;
Sweet birds, when you sing to her.
To yield some pity, woo her;
Sweet flowers, that she treads on.
Tell her, her beauty deads one.
And if in life her love she nill agree me.
Pray her before I die she will come see me.