1.
The fairest nymph the valleys
Or mountains ever bred;
The shepherds’ joy,
So beautiful and coy,
Fair Phillida is dead!
2.
For whom they all lamented,
And caroled o’er the plains,
And for her sake
They roundelays did make,
Admired of rural swains.
‖: But cruel fate, the graces envying
Of this blooming rose,
Now ready to disclose
With a frost untimely
Nipp’d this bud unkindly,
And so away her glory goes. :‖