The Shepherd's Ode

Walking in a valley green,

Pied with Flora, summer queen,

Where she heaping all her graces,

Niggard seemed in other places,

Spring it was and here did spring

All that nature forth can bring.

Groves of pleasant trees there grow,

Which fruit and shadow could bestow.

Thick-leaved boughs small birds cover,

Till sweet notes themselves discover;

Tunes for number seemed confounded,

Whilst their mixtures music sounded,

'Greeing well, yet not agreed,

That one the other should exceed.

A sweet stream here silent glides,

Whose clear water no fish hides.

Slow it runs, which well bewrayed,

The pleasant shore the current stayed;

In this stream a rock was planted,

Where no art nor nature wanted.

Each thing so did other grace,

As all places may give place;

Only this the place of pleasure,

Where is heaped nature's treasure.

Here mine eyes with wonder stayed;

Eyes amazed and mind afraid,

Ravished with what was beheld,

From departing were withheld.

Musing then with sound advice

On this earthly paradise,

Sitting by the river side

Lovely Phillis was descried.

Gold her hair, bright her eyne,

Like to Phoebus in his shine.

White her brow, her face was fair;

Amber breath perfumed the air;

Rose and lily both did seek,

To shew their glories on her cheek.

Love did nestle in her looks,

Baiting there his sharpest hooks.

Such a Phillis ne'er was seen,

More beautiful than loves queen.

Doubt it was whose greater grace,

Phillis' beauty or the place.

Her coat was of scarlet red,

All in pleats a mantle spread,

Fringed with gold, a wreath of boughs,

To check the sun from her brows.

In her hand a shepherd's hook,

In her face Diana's look.

Her sheep grazed on the plains;

She had stolen from the swains;

Under a cool silent shade,

By the streams she garlands made.

Thus sat Phillis all alone,

Missed she was by Coridon;

Chiefest swain of all the rest,

Lovely Phillis liked him best.

His face was like Phoebus' love,

His neck white as Venus' dove,

A ruddy cheek filled with smiles,

Such love hath when he beguiles.

His looks brown, his eyes were gray,

Like Titan in a summer day.

A russet jacket, sleeves red,

A blue bonnet on his head;

A cloak of gray fenced the rain;

Thus 'tired was this lovely swain.

A shepherd's hook, his dog tied,

Bag and bottle by his side.

Such was Paris, shepherds say,

When with Oenone he did play.

From his flock strayed Coridon,

Spying Phillis all alone;

By the stream he Phillis spied,

Braver than was Flora's pride,

Down the valley 'gan he track,

Stole behind his true love's back.

The sun shone and shadow made;

Phillis rose and was afraid.

When she saw her lover there,

Smile she did and left her fear.

Cupid that disdain doth loathe,

With desire strake them both.

The swain did woo, she was nice,

Following fashion nayed him twice.

Much ado he kissed her then.

Maidens blush when they kiss men;

So did Phillis at that stour,

Her face was like the rose flower.

Last they 'greed, for love would so,

"Faith' and "troth' they would no mo;

For shepherds ever held it sin,

To false the love they lived in.

The swain gave a girdle red,

She set garlands on his head.

Gifts were given, they kiss again,

Both did smile for both were fain.

Thus was love 'mongst shepherds sold,

When fancy knew not what was gold.

They wooed and vowed, and that they keep,

And go contented to their sheep.