Corydon, arise, my Corydon! Titan shineth clear. Who is it that calleth Corydon? Who is it that I hear? Phyllida, thy true love, calleth thee, Arise then, arise then, Arise and keep thy flock with me! Phyllida, my true love, is it she? I come then, I come then, I come and keep my flock with thee. Here are cherries ripe for my Corydon; Eat them for my sake. Here 's my oaten pipe, my lovely one, Sport for thee to make. Here are threads, my true love, fine as silk, To knit thee, to knit thee, A pair of stockings white as milk. Here are reeds, my true love, fine and neat, To make thee, to make thee, A bonnet to withstand the heat. When my Corydon sits on a hill Making melody When my lovely one goes to her wheel, Singing cheerily Sure methinks my true love doth excel For sweetness, for sweetness, Our Pan, that old Arcadian knight. And methinks my true love bears the bell For clearness, for clearness, Beyond the nymphs that be so bright. Yonder comes my mother, Corydon! Whither shall I fly? Under yonder beech, my lovely one, While she passeth by. Say to her thy true love was not here; Remember, remember, To-morrow is another day. Doubt me not, my true love, do not fear; Farewell then, farewell then! Heaven keep our loves alway!
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