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.