Englands Helicon. Or The Muses harmony.

¶Perigot and Cuddies Roundelay.

IT fell vpon a holy-Eue, hey hoe holy-day: When holy-Fathers wont to shriue, now ginneth this Roundelay. Sitting vpon a hill so hie, hey hoe the high hill: The while my Flock did feede thereby, the while the Shepheards selfe did spill.

I saw the bouncing Belly-bone, hey hoe Bonny-bell: Tripping ouer the Dale alone, she can trip it very well. Well decked in a Frock of gray, hey hoe gray is greete: And in a Kirtle of greene Say, the greene is for Maydens meete.

A Chaplet on her head she wore, hey hoe the Chaplet: Of sweet Violets therein was store, she's sweeter then the Violet. My Sheepe did leaue their wonted food, hey hoe silly Sheepe: And gaz'd on her as they were wood, wood as he that did them keepe.

As the Bonny-lasse passed by, hey hoe Bonny-lasse: She rol'd at me with glauncing eye, as cleare as the Christall-glasse. All as the Sunnie-beame so bright, hey hoe the Sun-beame: Glaunceth from Phoebus face forth-right, so loue into my heart did streame.

Or as the thunder cleaues the clouds, hey hoe the thunder: Wherein the lightsome leuin shrouds, so cleaues my soule asunder. Or as Dame Cynthias siluer ray, hey hoe the Moone-light:

Vpon the glistering waue doth play, such play is a pitteous plight.

The glaunce into my heart did glide, hey hoe the glider: There-with my soule was sharply gride, such wounds soone wexen wider. Hasting to raunch the arrow out, hey hoe Perigot: I left the head in my heart roote, it was a desperate shot.

There it rankleth aye more and more, hey hoe the arrow: Ne can I finde salue for my sore, loue is a curelesse sorrow. And though my bale with death I bought, hey hoe heauie cheere: Yet should thilke Lasse not from my thought, so you may buy gold too deere.

But whether in painefull loue I pine, hey hoe pinching paine: Or thriue in wealth, she shall be mine, but if thou can her obtaine. And if for gracelesse griefe I dye, hey hoe gracelesse griefe: Witnesse, she slew me with her eye, let thy folly be the preefe.

And you that saw it, simple sheepe, hey hoe the faire Flocke:

For priefe thereof my death shall weepe, and moane with many a mocke. So learn'd I loue on a holy-Eue, hey hoe holy-day: That euer since my heart did grieue; now endeth our Roundelay.

FINIS.

Edm. Spencer.