by Thomas Lodge (1558 - 1625)

Language: English 
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?


Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)

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