Classic Poem

Fast by a fountaine sweete and clere
Within a quechy springe;
Mine eyes did see, myne eares did heare
A heavnely aungell singe.

Her face to faire was to beholde
Yet had I oft a glaunce;
But when I sought to be so boulde
I fell into a traunce.

For as vpon the siluer streames
Hath Phaebus fairest grace;
Euen so beholde the sunny beames
That sitt vpon her face.

And for her voyce, it was no sounde
That humaine creatures make;
For where the eccho did rebounde
Itt makes the earth to shake

And when she gan for to divide
The musicke of her thoughte;
Then Philomelas note was tride
To be a thinge of noughte

Now when I harde the songe so sweete
I drewe me somewhat nere her;
And close on handes and feete did creepe
To sitt where I might heare her

And secretlie awhile vnseene
Harde by this heavnely springe
I satt, whereas I sawe this Queene
And harde this Angell singe

Ah Phillida, poore Phill, quothe shee
This mourning is but vaine;
Thy ioy is so farre gon fro thee
It cannot come againe

Thy Shepperd dead, thy flocke do feede
Vpon the barren hills:
And thy best herb is but a reede
That all thy garden spilles

Thy daintie springe is dryed awaye
That dyd thy garden nourishe;
And when thy flowres did all decaye;
How can thy garden flourishe

No Phillis, now farewell to love
Thy life is dead and gon;
And all the hope of thy behofe
Is heavne to thinke vpon

Base is the riche blinde are the wise
Vnfortunate the fayre;
And honor in discomfort dyes
When loue is in dispaire.

But to despight dispaire, quothe shee
Death shalbe yet a frende;
When with a shrike she waked me
And so my dreame did end.