While he dressed he sang an ancient ballad, at the top of his voice, to an air he improvised.

Phillida was a fair maid / As fresh as any flower; / Whom Harpalus the herd-man praide / To be his paramoure. / Harpalus and eke Corin, / Were herd-men both ysere; / And Phillida would twist and spinne, / And thereto sing ful clere.

"Phyllis!" cried John. "Can you hear in the bedroom? I sing of thee!" "I thought her name was Phillida," said Phyllis, setting the bedroom door ajar. "Phillida is Old English for Phyllis," he explained.