The Shepherd’s Ode

Walking in a valley greene,
Spred with Flora summer queene:
Where shee heaping all hir graces,
Niggard seemd in other places.
Spring it was and here did spring,
All that nature forth can bring:
Groues of pleasant trees there grow,
Which fruite and shadowe could bestow.
Thick leaued boughes small birds couer,
Till sweete notes themselues discouer:
Tunes for number seemd confounded,
Whilst their mixtures musickes sounded,
Greeing well, yet not agreed,
That one the other shoulde exceede.
A swete streame here silent glides,
Whose cleare water no fish hides.
Slow it runes which well bewraid,
The pleasant shore the current staid:
In this streame a rock was planted,
Where no art nor nature wanted.
Each thing so did other grace,
As all places maye giue place.
Onely this the place of pleasure,
Where is heaped nature’s treasure.
Heere mine eyes with woonder staid,
Eies amasd and minde afraid:
Rauisht with what was beheld,
From departing were withheld.
Musing then with sound aduise,
On this earthly paradise:
Sitting by the riuer side
Louely Phillis was discrid:
Golde hir haire, bright her eyen,
Like to Phoebus in his shine.
White hir brow, hir face was faire.
Amber breath perfumde the aire.
Rose and Lilly both did seeke,
To shew their glories on hir cheeke.
Loue did nestle in hir lookes.
Baiting there his sharpest hookes.
Such a Phillis nere was seene,
More beautiful than Loues Queene.
Doubt it was whose greater grace,
Phillis beautie or the place.
Hir coate was of scarlet red,
All in pleates a mantle spred:
Fringd with gold, a wreath of bowes,
To checke the sunne from hir browes.
In hir hand a shepheards hooke,
In hir face Dianas looke:
Hir sheepe grased on the plaines,
She had stolne from the swaines.
Vnder a coole silent shade,
By the streames shee garlands made.
Thus sat Phillis all alone,
Mist shee was by Coridon:
Chiefest swaine of all the rest,
Louely Phyllis likt him best.
His face was like Phoebus loue,
His necke white as Venus Doue,
A ruddie cheeke filde with smiles,
Such loue hath when he beguiles.
His lookes browne, his eyes were gray,
Like Titan in a summer day.
A russet Iacket sleeues red,
A blew bonnet on his hed:
A cloake of gray fencst the raine,
Thus tyred was this louely swaine.
A shepheards hooke his dog tide,
Bag and bottle by his side:
Such was Paris shepheards say,
When with Oenone he did play.
From his flocke straide Coridon,
Spying Phillis all alone:
By the streame he Phillis spide,
Brauer then was Floras pride,
Downe the valley gan he tracke:
Stole behinde his true loues backe:
The sunne shone and shadow made
Phillis rose and was afraid.
When shee saw hir louer there,
Smile shee did and left hir feare:
Cupid that disdaine doth loth,
With desire stracke them both.
The swaine did woe, she was nise,
Following fashion nayed him twise:
Much adooe hee kist hir then,
Madens blush when they kisse men:
So did Phillis at that stowre,
Hir face was like the rose flowre.
Last they greed for loue would so,
Faith and troth they would no mo.
For shepheards euer held it sin,
To false the loue they liued in,
The swaine gaue a girdle red,
Shee set garlandes on his hed.
Giftes were giuen, they kisse againe,
Both did smile for both were faine:
Thus was loue mongst shephards solde,
When fancy knew not what was golde:
They woed and vowed, and that they keep,
And goe contented to their sheep.