Poem by Nicholas Breton

Corydon's Supplication to Phyllis

Sweet Phyllis, if a silly swain
  May sue to thee for grace,
See not thy loving shepherd slain
  With looking on thy face;
But think what power thou hast got
  Upon my flock and me;
Thou seest they now regard me not,
  But all do follow thee.
And if I have so far presumed,
  With prying in thine eyes,
Yet let not comfort be consumed
  That in thy pity lies;
But as thou art that Phyllis fair,
  That fortune favour gives,
So let not love die in despair
  That in thy favour lives.
The deer do browse upon the briar,
  The birds do pick the cherries;
And will not Beauty grant Desire
  One handful of her berries?
If it be so that thou hast sworn
  That none shall look on thee,
Yet let me know thou dost not scorn
  To cast a look on me.
But if thy beauty make thee proud,
  Think then what is ordain'd;
The heavens have never yet allow'd
  That love should be disdain'd.
Then lest the fates that favour love
  Should curse thee for unkind,
Let me report for thy behoof,
  The honour of thy mind;
Let Corydon with full consent
  Set down what he hath seen,
That Phyllida with Love's content
  Is sworn the shepherds' queen.

1. A Sweet Pastoral
2. A Pastoral of Phyllis and Corydon
3. A Quarrel with Love
4. Aglaia
5. A Sweet Contention between Love, his Mistress, and Beauty

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