AN INVITATION TO PHYLLIS by CHARLES COTTON

@3Come live with me, and be my love,
And thou shalt all the pleasures prove@1,
The mountains' towring tops can show
Inhabiting the vales below.
From a brave height my star shall shine
T'illuminate the desert clime.
Thy Summer's bower shall overlook,
The subtle windings of the brook,
For thy delight which only springs,
And cuts her way with turtle's wings.
The pavement of thy rooms shall shine,
With the bruis'd treasures of the mine,
And not a tale of love but shall
In miniature adorn thy wall.
Thy closet shall Queens' caskets mock
With rustic jewels of the rock,
And thine own light shall make a gem,
As bright of these, as Queens of them.
From this thy sphere thou shalt behold
Thy snowy ewes troop o'er the mold,
Who yearly pay my love a-piece
A tender lamb, and silver fleece.
And when Sol's rays shall all combine
Thine to out-burn, though not outshine,
Then, at the foot of some green hill,
Where crystal Dove runs murm'ring still,
We'll angle for the bright-ey'd fish,
To make my love a dainty dish;
Or, in a cave, by nature made,
Fly to the covert of the shade,
@3Where all the pleasures we will prove,
Taught@1 by @3the little God of love@1.

And when bright Phoebus' scorching beams,
Shall cease to gild the silver streams,
Then in the cold arms of the flood
We'll bathing cool the factious blood,
Thy beauteous limbs the brook shall grace,
Like the reflex of Cynthia's face,
Whilst all the wond'ring fry do greet
The welcome light, adore thy feet,
Supposing Venus to be come
To send a kiss to Thetis' home.
And following night shall trifled be
Sweet; as thou know'st I promised thee;
Thus shall the Summer's days, and nights,
Be dedicate to thy delights.
@3Then live with me, and be my love,
And all these pleasures shalt thou prove@1.

But when the sapless season brings
Cold Winter, on her shivering wings,
Freezing the river's liquid face,
Into a crystal looking glass,
And that the trees their naked bones
Together knock, like skeletons,
Then, with the softest, whitest locks,
Spun with the tribute of thy flocks,
We will o'ercast thy whiter skin,
Winter without, a Spring within.
At the first peep of day I'll rise,
To make the sullen hare thy prize,
And thou with open arms shalt come
To bid thy hunter welcome home.
The partridge, plover, and the poot
I'll with the subtle mallard shoot;
The fell-fare, and the greedy thrush
Shall drop from ev'ry hawthorn bush,
And the slow heron down shall fall,
To feed my Fairest Fair withal,
The feather'd people of the air,
Shall fall to be my Phyllis' fare,
@3No storm shall touch thee, tempest move;
Then live with me, and be my love@1.

But from her cloister when I bring,
My Phyllis to restore the Spring,
The rustling Boreas shall withdraw,
The snow shall melt, the ice shall thaw;
The aguish plants fresh leaves shall show,
The earth put on her verdant hue,
And thou (fair Phyllis) shalt be seen
Mine, and the Summer's beauteous Queen.
@3These; and more pleasures shalt thou prove;
Then live with me, and be my love@1.

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