PHILLADA.
H, what a pain is love!
How shall I bear it?
She will unconstant prove;
I greatly fear it.
She so torments my mind
That my strength faileth,
And wavers with the wind
As a ship saileth.
Please her the best I may,
She loves still to gainsay:
Alack and well-a-day!
Phillada flouts me.
All the fair yesterday
She did pass by me;
She looked another way
And would not spy me.
I woo’d her for to dine,
But could not get her;
Will had her to the wine—
He might intreat her.
With Daniel she did dance;
On me she looked askance:
Oh, thrice unhappy chance!
Phillada flouts me.
Fair maid! be not so coy;
Do not disdain me!
I am my mother’s joy:
Sweet! entertain me!
She’ll give me when she dies
All that is fitting:
Her poultry and her bees,
And her goose sitting,
A pair of mattress beds,
And a bag full of shreds:
And yet, for all this guedes,
Phillada flouts me.