521. To Phyllis, to Love and Live with Him

Live, live with me, and thou shall seeThe pleasures I'll prepare for thee;What sweets the country can affordShall bless thy bed and bless thy board.The soft, sweet moss shall be thy bedWith crawling woodbine over-spread;By which the silver-shedding streamsShall gently melt thee into dreams.Thy clothing, next, shall be a gownMade of the fleece's purest down.The tongues of kids shall be thy meat,Their milk thy drink; and thou shalt eatThe paste of filberts for thy bread,With cream of cowslips buttered;Thy feasting-tables shall be hillsWith daisies spread and daffodils,Where thou shalt sit, and red-breast by,For meat, shall give thee melody.I'll give thee chains and carcanetsOf primroses and violets.A bag and bottle thou shalt have,That richly wrought, and this as brave;So that as either shall expressThe wearer's no mean shepherdess.At shearing-times, and yearly wakes,When Themilis his pastime makes,There thou shalt be; and be the wit,Nay, more, the feast, and grace of it.On holidays, when virgins meetTo dance the heyes with nimble feet,Thou shall come forth, and then appearThe queen of roses for that year;And having danced, 'bove all the best,Carry the garland from the rest.In wicker baskets maids shall bringTo thee, my dearest shepherling,The blushing apple, bashful pear,And shame-fac'd plum, all simp'ring there.Walk in the groves, and thou shalt findThe name of Phyllis in the rindOf every straight and smooth-skin tree;Where kissing that, I'll twice kiss thee.To thee a sheep-hook I will send,Be-prank'd with ribands to this end;This, this alluring hook might beLess for to catch a sheep than me.Thou shalt have possets, wassails fine,Not made of ale, but spiced wine,To make thy maids and self free mirth,All sitting near the glitt'ring hearth.Thou shalt have ribands, roses, rings,Gloves, garters, stockings, shoes, and stringsOf winning colours, that shall moveOthers to lust, but me to love.These, nay, and more, thine own shall beIf thou wilt love, and live with me.