A pastoral ballad in four double-quatrain stanzas, signed "F. H." Corydon complains of his Phillis, and repeats Colin Clout's traditional gesture: "And my pipe I'll no longer employ, | But this moment will break it in twain, | Since it cannot resound with my joy, | It no longer shall echo my pain." This poem is unusual in its irregular pattern of syllables in a line.
Since dear Phillis no longer will smile,
Alas, Corydon hard is thy lot;
She has left thee to linger awhile,
And thy person will soon be forgot.
Sure the rose bud no longer shall bloom,
And sweeten with fragrance the air,
Or the jessamine render perfume;
To Corydon lost in despair.
To a shepherd that's robb'd of his ease,
By a maid that he tenderly loves,
Whose delight and whose joy was to please
The dear object he so much approves.
Tho' Phoebe has told me she burnt with a flame,
That has ever been constant and true,
With scorn I repell'd her, and thought her to blame,
Since my heart I had given to you.
Now I wish that my Phillis had thought
That her Corydon never deceiv'd,
That her heart was with tenderness fraught,
And its dictates she might have believed.
Alas, must I say, my dear Phillis, adieu!
Ah, adieu! the delight of my heart;
Adieu to an object so charming, so charming as you,
Ah, then must your Corydon part.
To the fates so unfeeling I bend,
But each moment will think on my grief,
And my bosom unfold to my friend,
And from him will I seek my relief;
And my pipe I'll no longer employ,
But this moment will break it in twain,
Since it cannot resound with my joy,
It no longer shall echo my pain.