In the merry month of May,
In a morn by break of day,
With a troop of damsels playing,
Forth I rode, forsooth, a-maying,
When anon by a woodside,
Where as May was in his pride,
I espied, all alone,
Phillida and Corydon.
Much ado there was, God wot!
He would love, and she would not:
She said, never man was true:
He said, none was false to you.
He said, he had loved her long:
She said, love should have no wrong.
Corydon would kiss her then,
She said, maids must kiss no men,
Till they do for good and all;
Then she made the shepherd call
All the heavens to witness truth,
Never loved a truer youth.
Thus with many a pretty oath,
Yea, and nay, and faith and troth,
Such as silly shepherds use
When they will not love abuse;
Love, which had been long deluded,
Was with kisses sweet concluded:
And Phillida with garlands gay,
Was made the lady of the May.
Richard Breton.