Verse > Anthologies > William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. > The Book of Restoration Verse
William Stanley Braithwaite, ed.  The Book of Restoration Verse.  1910.
Phillada Flouts Me
O WHAT 1 a plague is love!
  How shall I bear it?
She will inconstant prove,
  I greatly fear it.
She so torments my mind        5
  That my strength faileth,
And wavers with the wind
  As a ship saileth.
Please her the best I may,
She loves still to gainsay;        10
Alack and well-a-day!
    Phillada flouts me.
At the fair yesterday
  She did pass by me;
She look’d another way        15
  And would not spy me:
I woo’d her for to dine,
  But could not get her;
Will had her to the Vine—
  He might entreat her.        20
With Daniel she did dance,
On me she look’d askance:
O thrice unhappy chance!
    Phillada flouts me.
Fair maid, be not so coy,        25
  Do not disdain me!
I am my mother’s joy:
  Sweet, entertain me!
She’ll give me, when she dies,
  All that is fitting:        30
Her poultry and her bees,
  And her geese sitting,
A pair of mattrass beds,
And a bag full of shreds;
And yet, for all this guedes,        35
    Phillada flouts me!
She hath a clout of mine
  Wrought with blue coventry,
Which she keeps for a sign
  Of my fidelity:        40
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        45
So soon from her to part:
Death strike me with his dart!
    Phillada flouts me.
Thou shalt eat curds and cream
  All the year lasting,        50
And drink the crystal stream
  Pleasant in tasting;
Whig and whey whilst thou lust,
  And ramble-berries,
Pie-lid and pastry-crust,        55
  Pears, plums, and cherries.
Thy raiment shall be thin,
Made of a weaver’s skin—
Yet all’s not worth a pin!
    Phillada flouts me.        60
In the last month of May
  I made her posies;
I heard her often say
  That she loved roses.
Cowslips and gillyflowers        65
  And the white lily
I brought to deck the bowers
  For my sweet Philly.
But she did all disdain,
And threw them back again        70
Therefore ’tis flat and plain
    Phillada flouts me.
Fair maiden, have a care,
  And in time take me;
I can have those as fair        75
  If you forsake me:
For Doll the dairy-maid
  Laugh’d at me lately,
And wanton Winifred
  Favours me greatly.        80
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        85
  At all in season:
Love wounds my heart so deep
  Without all reason.
I ’gin to pine away
  With grief and sorrow,        90
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        95
    Phillada flouts me.
Note 1. From Wit’s Restor’d, 1658. Another and inferior version is printed in Chappel’s Music of the Olden Time. [back]

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