Astrophel's Song of Phyllida and Corydon

Fair in a morn (O fairest morn!),         Was never morn so fair,     There shone a sun, though not the sun         That shineth in the air.     For the earth, and from the earth,         (Was never such a creature!)     Did come this face (was never face         That carried such a feature).     Upon a hill (O blessd hill!         Was never hill so blessd),     There stood a man (was never man         For woman so distressed):     This man beheld a heavenly view,         Which did such virtue give     As clears the blind, and helps the lame,         And makes the dead man live.     This man had hap (O happy man!         More happy none than he);     For he had hap to see the hap         That none had hap to see.     This silly swain (and silly swains         Are men of meanest grace):     Had yet the grace (O gracious gift!)         To hap on such a face.     He pity cried, and pity came         And pitied so his pain,     As dying would not let him die         But gave him life again.     For joy whereof he made such mirth         As all the woods did ring;     And Pan with all his swains came forth         To hear the shepherd sing;     But such a song sung never was,         Nor shall be sung again,     Of Phyllida the shepherds' queen,         And Corydon the swain.     Fair Phyllis is the shepherds' queen,         (Was never such a queen as she,)     And Corydon her only swain         (Was never such a swain as he):     Fair Phyllis hath the fairest face         That ever eye did yet behold,     And Corydon the constant'st faith         That ever yet kept flock in fold;     Sweet Phyllis is the sweetest sweet         That ever yet the earth did yield,     And Corydon the kindest swain         That ever yet kept lambs in field.     Sweet Philomel is Phyllis' bird,         Though Corydon be he that caught her,     And Corydon doth hear her sing,         Though Phyllida be she that taught her:     Poor Corydon doth keep the fields         Though Phyllida be she that owes them,     And Phyllida doth walk the meads,         Though Corydon be he that mows them:     The little lambs are Phyllis' love,         Though Corydon is he that feeds them,     The gardens fair are Phyllis' ground,         Though Corydon is he that weeds them.     Since then that Phyllis only is         The only shepherd's only queen;     And Corydon the only swain         That only hath her shepherd been, -     Though Phyllis keep her bower of state,         Shall Corydon consume away?     No, shepherd, no, work out the week,         And Sunday shall be holiday.