Phyllida's Love‑Call

 Phyllida:   Corydon, arise, my Corydon!

Titan shineth clear.

Corydon:   Who is it that calleth Corydon?

Who is it that I hear?

 Phyllida:   Phyllida, thy true love, calleth thee,

Arise then, arise then,

Arise and keep thy flock with me!

 Phyllida:   Here are cherries ripe for my Corydon;

Eat them for my sake.

Corydon:   Here's my oaten pipe, my lovely one,

Sport for thee to make.

 Phyllida:   Here are threads, my true love, fine as silk,

To knit thee, to knit thee,

A pair of stockings white as milk.

 Phyllida:   I will gather flowers, my Corydon,

To set in thy cap.

Corydon:   I will gather pears, my lovely one,

To put in thy lap.

 Phyllida:   I will buy my true love garters gay,

For Sundays, for Sundays,

To wear about his legs so tall.

 Phyllida:   When my Corydon sits on a hill

Making melody—

Corydon:   When my lovely one goes to her wheel,

Singing cheerily—

 Phyllida:   Sure methinks my true love doth excel

For sweetness, for sweetness,

Our Pan, that old Arcadian knight.

 Phyllida:   Had my Corydon, my Corydon,

Been, alack! her swain—

Corydon:   Had my lovely one, my lovely one,

Been in Ida plain—

 Phyllida:   Cynthia Endymion had refused,

Preferring, preferring,

My Corydon to play withal.

 Phyllida:   Yonder comes my mother, Corydon!

Whither shall I fly?

Corydon:   Under yonder beech, my lovely one,

While she passeth by.

 Phyllida:   Say to her thy true love was not here;

Remember, remember,

To-morrow is another day.