A Lovers Lamentation to his faire Phillida.
To new Tune.
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MY Philida, adue, Love,
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And evermore farewell:
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I must goe seeke a new Love,
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Yet will I ring her knell.
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Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong,
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My Phillida is dead:
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Ile sticke a branch of Willowes
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At my farie Phillis head.
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Our bridall bed was made,
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By my faire Phillida,
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Instead of silken shade,
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She now lyes wrapt in clay.
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Ding dong, etc.
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Her corps shall be attended
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With Nymphes in rich array,
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Till Obsaquies be ended,
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And my Love wrapt in clay.
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Ding dong, etc.
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Her Hearse it shall be carried,
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With them which doe excell:
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And when that she is buried,
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Thus will I will ring her knell.
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Ding dong, etc.
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Ile decke her Tomb with flowres
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The rarest that ere was seene:
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And with my teares as showres,
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Ile keepe them fresh and greene.
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Ding dong, etc.
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In stead of fairest flowres,
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Set forth by curious Art,
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Her picture shall be painted
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In my distressed heart.
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Ding dong, etc.
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And ever shall be written,
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And after shall be said,
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True love is not forgotten,
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Though Phillda be dead.
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Ding dong, etc.
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Now ever will I dwell
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Where my True-Love doth lye:
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And in some darksome Cell,
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There will I pine and dye.
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Ding dong, etc.
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In Sable will I mourne,
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The blacke shall be my weed,
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Ah me, I heare some talke,
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That Phillida is dead.
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Ding dong, etc.
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A garland shall be framed,
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By Art and Natures skill,
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With sundry other flowres,
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In token of good will.
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Ding dong, etc.
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With sundry coloured Ribands,
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As much I will bestow:
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They should be black and yellow,
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In token of my woe.
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Ding dong, etc.
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True Lovers be not scanting
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With teares to make me mourne,
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Since Phillida is wanting,
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And all my joyes are gone.
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Ding dong, etc.
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She was my onely True-Love,
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My heart can witnesse well:
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Wherefore, in signe I love her,
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Once more Ile wring her knell.
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Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong,
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My Phillida is dead:
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Ile sticke a branch of Willowes
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At my faiie Phillis head.
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FINIS.
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