Thomas Lodge

Phillis I

MY Phillis hath the morning sun
    At first to look upon her;
And Phillis hath morn-waking birds
    Her risings still to honour.
My Phillis hath prime-feather'd flowers,
    That smile when she treads on them;
And Phillis hath a gallant flock,
    That leaps since she doth own them.
But Phillis hath too hard a heart,
    Alas that she should have it!
It yields no mercy to desert,
    Nor grace to those that crave it.