There is no striving To cross his intent; There is no contriving His plots to prevent; But if once
the message greet him That his True Love doth stay, If Death should come and meet him, Love will find
out the way!
O WHAT a plague is love! How shall I bear it? She will inconstant 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.
At the fair yesterday She did pass by me; She lookd another way And would not spy me: I
wood her for to dine, But could not get her; Will had her to the wine He might entreat her. With Daniel
she did dance, On me she lookd askance: O thrice unhappy chance! Phillada flouts me.
Fair maid, be not so coy, Do not disdain me! I am my mothers joy: Sweet, entertain me! Shell
give me, when she dies, All that is fitting: Her poultry and her bees, And her goose sitting, A pair of mattrass
beds, And a bag full of shreds; And yet, for all this guedes,1 Phillada flouts me!
She hath a clout of mine Wrought with blue coventry, Which she keeps for a sign Of my fidelity: But
i faith, if she flinch She shall not wear it; To Tib, my tother wench, I mean to bear it. And yet it grieves my
heart So soon from her to part: Death strike me with his dart! Phillada flouts me.
Thou shalt eat crudded cream All the year lasting, And drink the crystal stream Pleasant in
tasting; Whig and whey whilst thou lust, And bramble-berries, Pie-lid and pastry-crust, Pears, plums, and
cherries. Thy raiment shall be thin, Made of a weevils skin Yet alls not worth a pin! Phillada flouts me.
In the last month of May I made her posies; I heard her often say That she loved roses. Cowslips
and gillyflowers And the white lily I brought to deck the bowers For my sweet Philly. But she did all disdain, And
threw them back again; Therefore tis flat and plain Phillada flouts me.
Fair maiden, have a care, And in time take me; I can have those as fair If you forsake me: For
Doll the dairy-maid Laughd at me lately, And wanton Winifred Favours me greatly. One throws milk on my
clothes, Tother plays with my nose; What wanting signs are those? Phillada flouts me!
I cannot work nor sleep At all in season: Love wounds my heart so deep Without all reason. I
gin to pine away In my loves shadow, Like as a fat beast may, Pennd in a meadow. I shall be dead, I fear, Within
this thousand year: And all for that my dear Phillada flouts me.
O WOULD I were where I would be! There would I be where I am not: For where I am would I
not be, And where I would be I can not.
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By PanEris
using Melati.
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