IN the merry month of May,
In a morn by break of day,
Forth I walkd by the wood-side
as May was in his pride:
There I spiàd all alone
Phillida and Coridon.
Much ado there was, God wot!
would love and she would not.
She said, Never man was true;
He said, None was false to you.
He had loved her long;
She said, Love should have no wrong.
Coridon would kiss her then;
Maids must kiss no men
Till they did for good and all;
Then she made the shepherd call
All the heavens to
Never loved a truer youth.
Thus with many a pretty oath,
Yea and nay, and faith and troth,
as silly shepherds use
When they will not Love abuse,
Love, which had been long deluded,
Was with kisses
And Phillida, with garlands gay,
Was made the Lady of the May.
The Arbor of Amorous
COME little babe, come silly soul,
Thy fathers shame, thy mothers grief,
Born as I doubt to
all our dole,
And to thyself unhappy chief:
Sing lullaby, and lap it warm,
Poor soul that thinks no creature
Thou little thinkst and less dost know
The cause of this thy mothers moan;
Thou wantst the
wit to wail her woe,
And I myself am all alone:
Why dost thou weep? why dost thou wail?
And knowst not
yet what thou dost ail.
Come, little wretchah, silly heart!
Mine only joy, what can I more?
If there be any wrong thy
That may the destinies implore:
Twas I, I say, against my will,
I wail the time, but be thou still.
And dost thou smile? O, thy sweet face!
Would God Himself He might thee see!
thou wouldst soon purchase grace,
I know right well, for thee and me:
But come to mother, babe, and
For father false is fled away.
Sweet boy, if it by fortune chance
Thy father home again to send,
If death do strike me with
Yet mayst thou me to him commend:
If any ask thy mothers name,
Tell how by love she purchased
Then will his gentle heart soon yield:
I know him of a noble mind:
Although a lion in the field,
lamb in town thou shalt him find:
Ask blessing, babe, be not afraid,
His sugard words hath me betrayd.
Then mayst thou joy and be right glad;
Although in woe I seem to moan,
Thy father is no
A noble youth of blood and bone:
His glancing looks, if he once smile,
Right honest women
Come, little boy, and rock asleep;
Sing lullaby and be thou still;
I, that can do naught else but
Will sit by thee and wail my fill:
God bless my babe, and lullaby
From this thy fathers quality.
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