Corydon's Supplication to Phyllis

Sweet Phyllis, if a silly swain
    May sue to thee for grace,
See not thy loving shepherd slain
    With looking on thy face;
But think what power thou hast got
    Upon my flock and me;
Thou seest they now regard me not,
    But all do follow thee.
And if I have so far presumed,
    With prying in thine eyes,
Yet let not comfort be consumed
    That in thy pity lies;
But as thou art that Phyllis fair,
    That fortune favour gives,
So let not love die in despair
    That in thy favour lives.
The deer do browse upon the briar,
    The birds do pick the cherries;
And will not Beauty grant Desire
    One handful of her berries?
If it be so that thou hast sworn
    That none shall look on thee,
Yet let me know thou dost not scorn
    To cast a look on me.
But if thy beauty make thee proud,
    Think then what is ordain'd;
The heavens have never yet allow'd
    That love should be disdain'd.
Then lest the fates that favour love
    Should curse thee for unkind,
Let me report for thy behoof,
    The honour of thy mind;
Let Corydon with full consent
    Set down what he hath seen,
That Phyllida with Love's content
    Is sworn the shepherds' queen.

Nicholas Breton

Nicholas Breton was an English poet and novelist. He became notable in his time for his wide range of works, from pastoral poetry to satire. Over the years, Breton developed a distinctive style marked by its versatility and lyrical beauty. Some of his more famous works include 'The Pilgrimage to Paradise' and 'A Floorish Upon Fancie.' His contribution to the literary landscape of his era remains impactful.

Nicholas Breton

A Sweet Pastoral

Nicholas Breton, Simple Poetry

Phyllida And Corydon

Nicholas Breton, Simple Poetry

A Pastoral of Phyllis and Corydon

Nicholas Breton, Simple Poetry

Sonnet

Nicholas Breton, Simple Poetry

English

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Astrophel's Song of Phyllida and Corydon

Fair in a morn (O fairest morn!),
    Was never morn so fair,
There shone a sun, though not the sun
    That shineth in the air.
For the earth, and from the earth,
    (Was never such a creature!)
Did come this face (was never face
    That carried such a feature).
Upon a hill (O blessèd hill!
    Was never hill so blessèd),
There stood a man (was never man
    For woman so distressed):
This man beheld a heavenly view,
    Which did such virtue give
As clears the blind, and helps the lame,
    And makes the dead man live.
This man had hap (O happy man!
    More happy none than he);
For he had hap to see the hap
    That none had hap to see.
This silly swain (and silly swains
    Are men of meanest grace):
Had yet the grace (O grac...

Nicholas Breton

A Pastoral of Phyllis and Corydon

On a hill there grows a flower,
    Fair befall the dainty sweet!
By that flower there is a bower,
    Where the heavenly Muses meet.

In that bower there is a chair,
    Fringèd all about with gold,
Where doth sit the fairest fair
    That did ever eye behold.

It is Phyllis, fair and bright,
    She that is the shepherds' joy,
She that Venus did despite,
    And did blind her little boy.

This is she, the wise, the rich,
    That the world desires to see:
This is ipsa quæ, the which
    There is none but only she.

Who would not this face admire?
    Who would not this saint adore?
Who would not this sight desire,
    Though he thought to see no more?

O, fair eyes, yet let me see,
    One good look, a...

Nicholas Breton

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 abus...

Nicholas Breton

Phillida And Corydon

In the merrie moneth of Maye,
In a morne by break of daye,
With a troope of damselles playing
Forthe 'I yode' forsooth a maying;

When anon by a wood side,
Where that Maye was in his pride,
I espied all alone
Phillida and Corydon.

Much adoe there was, God wot:
He wold love, and she wold not.
She sayde, "Never man was trewe;"
He sayes, "None was false to you."

He sayde, hee had lovde her longe;
She sayes, love should have no wronge.
Corydon wold kisse her then;
She sayes, "Maydes must kisse no men,

"Tyll they doe for good and all."
When she made the shepperde call
All the heavens to wytnes truthe,
Never loved a truer youthe.

Then with manie a prettie othe,
Yea and nay, and faithe and trothe,
Suche as se...

George Wharton Edwards

Songs In "The Conquest Of Granada."

I.

    Wherever I am, and whatever I do,
    My Phyllis is still in my mind;
    When angry, I mean not to Phyllis to go,
    My feet, of themselves, the way find:
    Unknown to myself I am just at her door,
    And when I would rail, I can bring out no more,
    Than, Phyllis too fair and unkind!

    When Phyllis I see, my heart bounds in my breast,
    And the love I would stifle is shown;
    But asleep or awake I am never at rest,
    When from my eyes Phyllis is gone.
    Sometimes a sad dream does delude my sad mind;
    But, alas! when I wake, and no Phyllis I find,
    How I sigh to myself all alone!

    Should a king be my rival in her I adore,
    He should offer his treasure in vain:
    Oh, let me alone to be happy and poor,...

John Dryden

Horace To Phyllis

Come, Phyllis, I've a cask of wine
That fairly reeks with precious juices,
And in your tresses you shall twine
The loveliest flowers this vale produces.

My cottage wears a gracious smile,--
The altar, decked in floral glory,
Yearns for the lamb which bleats the while
As though it pined for honors gory.

Hither our neighbors nimbly fare,--
The boys agog, the maidens snickering;
And savory smells possess the air
As skyward kitchen flames are flickering.

You ask what means this grand display,
This festive throng, and goodly diet?
Well, since you're bound to have your way,
I don't mind telling, on the quiet.

'Tis April 13, as you know,--
A day and month devote to Venus,
Whereon was born, some years ago,
My very worthy friend M...

Eugene Field