Coridon and Phillis

Phillis kept sheepe along the westerne plaines,
And Coridon did feed his flocks hard by:
This Sheepheard was the flower of all the swaines,
That trac’d the downes of fruitfull Thessalie,
And Phillis that did far her flocks surpasse,
In siluer hue was thought a bonny lasse.

A Bonny lasse quaint in her Country tire,
Was louely Phillis, Coridon swore so:
Her locks, her lookes, did set the swaine on fire,
He left his Lambes, and he began to woe,
He lookt, he sitht, he courted with a kisse:
No better could the silly swad then this.

He little knew to paint a tale of Loue;
Sheepheards can fancie, but they cannot saye:
Phillis gan smile, and wily thought to proue,
What vncouth greefe poore Coridon did paie,
She askt him how his flocks or he did fare,
Yet pensiue thus his sighes did tell his care.

The sheepheard blusht when Phillis questioned so,
And swore by Pan it was not for his flocke:
Tis loue faire Phillis breedeth all this woe:
My thoughts are trapt within thy louely locks,
Thine eye hath pearst, thy face hath set on fire.
Faire Phillis kindleth Coridons desire.

Can sheepheards loue, said Phillis to the swaine,
Such saints as Phillis, Coridon replied:
Then when they lust, can many fancies faine,
Said Phillis: this not Coridon denied:
That lust had lies, but loue quoth he sayes truth,
Thy sheepheard loues, then Phillis what ensueth.

Phillis was wan, she blusht and hung the head,
The swaine stept to, and cher’d hir with a kisse,
With faith, with troth, they stroke the matter dead,
So vsed they when men thought not amisse:
This Loue begun and ended both in one,
Phillis was loued, and she lik’t Corydon.