Phoebe

Phoebe sat

Sweet she sat,

Sweet sat Phoebe when I saw her,

White her brow,

Coy her eye:

Brow and eye how much you please me?

Words I spent,

Sighs I sent,

Sighs and words could never draw her.

Oh my love

Thou art lost,

Since no sight could ever ease thee.

Phoebe sat

By a fount;

Sitting by a fount I spied her:

Sweet her touch,

Rare her voice;

Touch and voice what may distain you?

As she sung,

I did sigh,

And by sighs whilst that I tried her,

Oh mine eyes

You did lose

Her first sight whose want did pain you.

Phoebe's flocks

White as wool,

Yet were Phoebe's locks more whiter.

Phoebe's eyes,

Dove-like mild,

Dove-like eyes both mild and cruel.

Montan swears,

In your lamps

He will die for to delight her.

Phoebe yield,

Or I die;

Shall true hearts be fancy's fuel?