Verse > Anthologies > T. H. Ward, ed. > The English Poets > Vol. I. Chaucer to Donne
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Thomas Humphry Ward, ed.  The English Poets.  1880–1918.
Vol. I. Early Poetry: Chaucer to Donne
 
From England’s Helicon: Phillida’s Love-call to Her Corydon, and His Replying (Ignoto)
Elizabethan Miscellanies
 
Phil.  CORYDON, arise my Corydon,
        Titan shineth clear.
Cor.  Who is it that calleth Corydon,
        Who is it that I hear?
Phil.  Phillida thy true love calleth thee,        5
        Arise then, arise then;
          Arise and keep thy flock with me.
Cor.  Phillida, my true love, is it she?
        I come then, I come then,
          I come and keep my flock with thee.        10
 
Phil.  Here are cherries ripe my Corydon,
        Eat them for my sake.
Cor.  Here ’s my oaten pipe, my lovely one,
        Sport for thee to make.
Phil.  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
 
Phil.  I will gather flowers my Corydon,
        To set in thy cap.
Cor.  I will gather pears, my lovely one,
        To put in thy lap.
Phil.  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, 1
        For Sundays, for Sundays,
          To wear about her middle small.        30
 
Phil.  When my Corydon sits on a hill
        Making melody:
Cor.  When my lovely one goes to her wheel,
      Singing cheerily.
Phil.  Sure methinks my true love doth excel        35
        For sweetness, for sweetness,
          Our Pan the old Arcadian knight.
Cor.  And methinks my true love bears the bell
        For clearness, for clearness,
          Beyond the nymphs that be so bright.        40
 
Phil.  Had my Corydon, my Corydon,
        Been (alack) her 2 swain:
Cor.  Had my lovely one, my lovely one,
        Been in Ida plain:
Phil.  Cynthia Endymion had refus’d,        45
        Preferring, preferring,
          My Corydon to play withal:
Cor.  The queen of love had been excus’d
        Bequeathing, bequeathing,
          My Phillida the golden ball.        50
 
Phil.  Yonder comes my mother, Corydon,
        Whither shall I fly?
Cor.  Under yonder beech my lovely one,
        While she passeth by.
Phil.  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
 
Note 1. Thin serge: Fr. saie. [back]
Note 2. The editions give ‘my.’ [back]
 
 
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