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Thy raiment shall be thin,
Made of a weaver's skin!
Yet all's not worth a pin.
PHILLADA flouts me.
Fair maiden! have a care
And in time take me.
I can have those as fair;
If you forsake me.
For DOLL the dairymaid
Laught on me lately:
And wanton WINIFRID
Favours me greatly.
One throws milk on my clothes;
T'other plays with my nose.
What wanton signs are those!
PHILLADA flouts me.
I cannot work and sleep
All at a season;
Love wounds my heart so deep,
Without all reason.
I 'gin to pine away
With grief and sorrow;
Like to a fatted beast
Penned in a meadow.
I shall be dead, I fear,
Within this thousand year;
And all for very fear
PHILLADA flouts me.
