The Obsequie of faire Phillida,
With the Shepheards and Nymphs lamentation for her losse,
To a new Court tune.
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THe fairest Nymph that valleys
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Or mountaines ever bred:
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The Shepheards joy,
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So beautifull and coy,
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Faire Phillida is dead:
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On whom they oft have tended,
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And carold on the Plaines;
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And for her sake
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Sweet Roundelayes did make,
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Admird by rurall Swaines
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But cruell Fates the beauties envying,
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Of this blooming Rose,
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So ready to disclose:
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With a frost unkindly,
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Nipt this bud untimely,
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So away her glory goes.
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The Sheepe for woe go bleating,
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That they their Goddesse misse:
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And sable Ewes,
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By their mournfull shewes,
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Her absence couse of this.
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The Nimphs leave of their dancing,
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Pans Pipe of joy is cleft,
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For greats his griefe
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He shunneth all releife,
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Since she from him is reft.
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Come, fatall Sisters, leave there your spooles,
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Leave mourning altogether.
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That made this flower to wither,
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Let Envy, that foule Vipresse,
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Put on a wreath of Cypresse,
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Singing sad Dirges altogether.
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Diana was chief mourner,
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At these sad Obsequies:
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Who with her traine,
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Went tripping ore the Plaine,
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Singing dolefull Elegies:
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Menalchus and Amintas,
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And many Shepheards moe,
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With mournfull Verse,
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Did all attend her hearse,
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And in sable sadly go.
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Flora, the Goddes that useth to beautifie
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Faire Phillis lovely bowers.
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With sweet fragrant flowers,
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Now her grave adorned,
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And with flowers mourned.
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Teares thedeon in vain she powers.
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Venus alone triumphed,
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To see this dismall day,
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Who did dispaire,
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That Phillida the faire,
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Her lawes would nere obey.
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The blinded Boy his Arrowes
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And Darts were vainly spent,
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Her heart, alas,
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Inpenetrable was,
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And to love would nere assent.
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It which affront Citharea repined
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Cause Death with his Dart,
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Has piercd her tender heart
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But her noble spirit,
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Doth such joyes inherit,
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Which from her shall nere depart,
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