Thus Fancie strung my Lute to Layes of Loue, and Loue hath rock’d my wearie Muse a-sleepe: And sleepe is broken by the paines I proue, and euery paine I feele dooth force me weepe. (35) Then farewell fancie, loue, sleepe, paine, and sore: And farewell weeping, I can waile no more.
FINIS. Shep. Tonie.
¶ Phillidaes Loue-call to her Coridon, and his replying. +
Phil. C Oridon, arise my Coridon, Titan shineth cleare:
Cor. Who is it that calleth Coridon, who is it that I heare?
Phil. (5) Phillida thy true-Loue calleth thee, arise then, arise then; arise and keepe thy flock with me:
Cor. Phillida my true-Loue, is it she? I come then, I come then, (10) I come and keepe my flock with thee.
Phil. Heere are cherries ripe my Coridon, eate them for my sake:
Cor. Heere’s my Oaten pipe my louely one, sport for thee to make.
Phil. (15) Heere are threeds my true-Loue, fine as silke, to knit thee, to knit thee a paire of stockings white as milke.
Cor. Heere are Reedes my true-Loue, fine and neate, to make thee, to make thee (20) a Bonnet to with-stand the heate.
Phil. I will gather flowers my Coridon, to set in thy cap: