Phoebe sat Sweet she sat, Sweet sat Phoebe when I saw her, White her brow, Coy her eye: Brow and eye how much you please me? Words I spent, Sighs I sent, Sighs and words could never draw her. Oh my love Thou art lost, Since no sight could ever ease thee. Phoebe sat By a fount; Sitting by a fount I spied her: Sweet her touch, Rare her voice; Touch and voice what may distain you? As she sung, I did sigh, And by sighs whilst that I tried her, Oh mine eyes You did lose Her first sight whose want did pain you. Phoebe's flocks White as wool, Yet were Phoebe's locks more whiter. Phoebe's eyes, Dove-like mild, Dove-like eyes both mild and cruel. Montan swears, In your lamps He will die for to delight her. Phoebe yield, Or I die; Shall true hearts be fancy's fuel?
- by Thomas Lodge (1558 - 1625) [author's text not yet checked against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)
- by Charles Villiers Stanford, Sir (1852 - 1924), "Phoebe", op. 125 (Four songs) no. 3, published 1911 [ voice and piano ], Stainer & Bell [sung text checked 1 time]
Researcher for this text: Ted Perry
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 36
Word count: 149