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 look'd another way   And would not spy me: I woo'd 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 look'd askance: O thrice unhappy chance!   Phillada flouts me.

Fair maid, be not so coy,   Do not disdain me! I am my mother's joy:   Sweet, entertain me! She'll 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,   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 t'other 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 weevil's skin— Yet all 's 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   Laugh'd at me lately, And wanton Winifred   Favours me greatly. One throws milk on my clothes, T'other 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 love's shadow, Like as a fat beast may,   Penn'd in a meadow. I shall be dead, I fear, Within this thousand year: And all for that my dear   Phillada flouts me.

guedes] goods, property of any kind.