| Phyllida. | CORYDON, arise, my Corydon! | |
| Titan shineth clear. | |
| Corydon. | Who is it that calleth Corydon? | |
| Who is it that I hear? | |
| Phyl. | Phyllida, thy true love, calleth thee, | 5 |
| Arise then, arise then, | |
| Arise and keep thy flock with me! | |
| Cor. | Phyllida, my true love, is it she? | |
| I come then, I come then, | |
| I come and keep my flock with thee. | 10 |
| |
| Phyl. | Here are cherries ripe for my Corydon; | |
| Eat them for my sake. | |
| Cor. | Here 's my oaten pipe, my lovely one, | |
| Sport for thee to make. | |
| Phyl. | Here are threads, my true love, fine as silk, | 15 |
| To knit thee, to knit thee, | |
| A pair of stockings white as milk. | |
| Cor. | Here are reeds, my true love, fine and neat, | |
| To make thee, to make thee, | |
| A bonnet to withstand the heat. | 20 |
| |
| Phyl. | I will gather flowers, my Corydon, | |
| To set in thy cap. | |
| Cor. | I will gather pears, my lovely one, | |
| To put in thy lap. | |
| Phyl. | I will buy my true love garters gay, | 25 |
| For Sundays, for Sundays, | |
| To wear about his legs so tall. | |
| Cor. | I will buy my true love yellow say, | |
| For Sundays, for Sundays, | |
| To wear about her middle small. | 30 |
| |
| Phyl. | When my Corydon sits on a hill | |
| Making melody— | |
| Cor. | When my lovely one goes to her wheel, | |
| Singing cheerily— | |
| Phyl. | Sure methinks my true love doth excel | 35 |
| For sweetness, for sweetness, | |
| Our Pan, that old Arcadian knight. | |
| Cor. | And methinks my true love bears the bell | |
| For clearness, for clearness, | |
| Beyond the nymphs that be so bright. | 40 |
| |
| Phyl. | Had my Corydon, my Corydon, | |
| Been, alack! her swain— | |
| Cor. | Had my lovely one, my lovely one, | |
| Been in Ida plain— | |
| Phyl. | Cynthia Endymion had refused, | 45 |
| Preferring, preferring, | |
| My Corydon to play withal. | |
| Cor. | The Queen of Love had been excused | |
| Bequeathing, bequeathing, | |
| My Phyllida the golden ball. | 50 |
| |
| Phyl. | Yonder comes my mother, Corydon! | |
| Whither shall I fly? | |
| Cor. | Under yonder beech, my lovely one, | |
| While she passeth by. | |
| Phyl. | Say to her thy true love was not here; | 55 |
| Remember, remember, | |
| To-morrow is another day. | |
| Cor. | Doubt me not, my true love, do not fear; | |
| Farewell then, farewell then! | |
| Heaven keep our loves alway! | 60 |
