Of her feathers make her fan; Let the hound the hare go chase; Lambs and rabbits run at base; Flies be dancing in the sun, While the silk-worm's webs are spun; Hang a fish on every hook As she goes along the brook; So with all your sweetest powers Entertain her in your bowers; Where her ear may joy to hear How ye make your sweetest quire; And in all your sweetest vein Still Aglaia strike her strain; But when she her walk doth turn, Then begin as fast to mourn; All your flowers and garlands wither Put up all your pipes together; Never strike a pleasing strain Till she come abroad again. Phyllida and Corydon In the merry month of May, In a morn by break of day, With a troop of damsels playing Forth I rode, forsooth, a-maying, When anon by a woodside, Where as May was in his pride, I espied, all alone, Phyllida and Corydon. Much ado there was, God wot! He would love, and she would not: She said, never man was true; He says, none was false to you. He said, he had loved her long: She says, Love should have no wrong. Corydon would kiss her then, She says, maids must kiss no men, Till they do for good and all. Then she made the shepherd call All the heavens to witness, truth Never loved a truer youth. Thus with many a pretty oath, Yea, and nay, and faith and troth!-- Such as silly shepherds use When they will not love abuse; Love, which had been long deluded, Was with kisses sweet concluded: And Phyllida, with garlands gay, Was made the lady of the May. Astrophel's Song of Phyllida and Corydon