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Home  »  The English Poets  »  A Pastoral Song

Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. I. Early Poetry: Chaucer to Donne

Henry Constable (1562–1613)

A Pastoral Song

Between Phillis and Amarillis, Two Nymphs, Each Answering Other Line for Line

Phillis.
FIE on the sleights that men devise,

Heigh ho silly sleights:

When simple maids they would entice,

Maids are young men’s chief delights.

Amarillis.
Nay, women they witch with their eyes,

Eyes like beams of burning sun:

And men once caught, they soon despise;

So are shepherds oft undone.

Phillis.
If any young man win a maid,

Happy man is he:

By trusting him she is betrayed;

Fie upon such treachery.

Amarillis.
If Maids win young men with their guiles,

Heigh ho guileful grief;

They deal like weeping crocodiles,

That murder men without relief.

Phillis.
I know a simple country hind,

Heigh ho silly swain:

To whom fair Daphne proved kind,

Was he not kind to her again?

He vowed by Pan with many an oath,

Heigh ho shepherds God is he:

Yet since hath changed, and broke his troth,

Troth-plight broke will plagued be.

Amarillis.
She hath deceived many a swain,

Fie on false deceit:

And plighted troth to them in vain,

There can be no grief more great.

Her measure was with measure paid,

Heigh-ho, heigh-ho equal meed:

She was beguil’d that had betrayed,

So shall all deceivers speed.

Phillis.
If every maid were like to me,

Heigh-ho hard of heart:

Both love and lovers scorn’d should be,

Scorners shall be sure of smart.

Amarillis.
If every maid were of my mind

Heigh-ho, heigh-ho lovely sweet:

They to their lovers should prove kind,

Kindness is for maidens meet.

Phillis.
Methinks, love is an idle toy,

Heigh-ho busy pain:

Both wit and sense it doth annoy,

Both sense and wit thereby we gain.

Amarillis.
Tush! Phillis, cease, be not so coy,

Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, coy disdain:

I know you love a shepherd’s boy,

Fie! that maidens so should feign!

Phillis.
Well, Amarillis, now I yield,

Shepherds, pipe aloud:

Love conquers both in town and field,

Like a tyrant, fierce and proud.

The evening star is up, ye see;

Vesper shines; we must away;

Would every lover might agree,

So we end our roundelay.