A Louers Lamentation to his faire Phillida.
To new Tune.
And euermore farewell:
I must gee séeke a new Loue,
Yet will I ring her knell.
Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong,
My
Phillida is dead:
Ile sticke a branch of Willowes
At my farie
Phillis head.
Our bridall bed was made,
But my faire
Phillida,
Instead of
[...]lken shade,
She now lyes wrapt in clay.
Ding dong, &c.
Her corps shall be attended
With Nymphes in rich array,
Till Obsequies be ended,
And my Loue wrapt in clay.
Ding dong, &c.
Her Hearse it shall be carried▪
With them which doe excell:
And when that she is buried,
Thus will I will ring her knell.
Ding dong &c.
Ile decke her Tomb with flowres
The rarest that ere was séene:
And with my teares as showres,
Ile kéepe them fresh and gréene.
Ding dong▪ &c.
In stead of fairest flowres,
Set forth by curious Art,
Her picture shall be painted
In my distressed heart.
Ding dong, &c.
And euer shall be written,
And after shall be said,
True loue is not forgotten,
Though
Phillda be dead.
Ding dong, &c.
Now euer will I dwell
Where my True-Loue doth lye:
And in some darksome Cell,
There will I pine and dye.
Ding dong, &c.
In Sable will I mourne,
The blacke shall be my wéed,
Ah me, I heare some talke,
That
Phillida is dead.
Ding dong, &c.
A garland shall be framed,
By Art and Natures skill,
With sundry other flowres,
In taken of good will.
Ding dong, &c.
With sundry coloured
[...],
As much I will bestow:
They s
[...]ld be black and yellow,
In token of my woe.
Ding ding, &c.
True Louers be not scanting
With teares to make me mourne,
Since
Phillida is wanting,
And all my ioyes are gone.
Ding dong, &c.
She was my onely True-Loue,
My heart can witnesse well:
Wherefore, in signe I loue her,
Once more Ile wring her knell.
Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong,
My
Phillida is dead,
Ile sticke a branch of Willowes
At my faire
Phillis head.
FINIS.
Printed at London by G. P.