FAR in the country of Arden, Fell was he; and eager bent He had, as antique stories tell, And for she was her father's heir, The silk well couth she twist and twine, And make the fine marchpine ; And, with the needle work! And she couth help the Priest to say And sing a Psalm in Kirk. She ware a frock of frolic green, A hood to that, so neat and fine; Ywrought full featuously. Her feature all as fresh above, Her skin as soft as Lemster wool, This Maiden, in a morn betime, The honeysuckle, the harlock, To deck her Summer Hall. Thus as she wandered here and there, She chanced to espy A Shepherd sitting on a bank, He leared his sheep, as he him list, Whilst he, full many a Carol sang; Until the fields and meadows rang, And all the woods did sound! In favour, this same Shepherd Swain Whom his lewd brother slaw! ! The Shepherd ware a sheep-gray cloak; That could be cut with shear: His mittens were of bàuzen's skin, His hood, of miniver. His awl and lingel in a thong, Full crisp and curlèd were his locks, And piping still, he spent the day, Which liked DowSABELL; That, would she ought, or would she nought, This Lad would never from her thought! She in love-longing fell! At length, she tuckèd up her frock, But then, the Shepherd piped a-good! 'Thy sheep,' quoth she, 'can not be lean! That have a jolly Shepherd Swain; The which can pipe so well!' 'Yea, but,' saith he, 'their Shepherd may! If, piping thus, he pine away, In love of DowSABELL!' 'Of love, fond boy! take thou no keep!' With that, she gan to vail her head: With that, the Shepherd gan to frown. And on the ground him laid. Saith she, 'I may not stay till night, 'My cot,' saith he, 'nor yet my fold, Shall neither sheep nor shepherd hold; Except thou favour me!' Saith she, 'Yet lever I were dead, Saith he, 'Yet are you too unkind; 'And I to thee will be as kind, As COLIN was to ROSALIND; Of courtesy the flower!' 'Then will I be as true,' quoth she, 'As ever Maiden yet might be Unto her paramour!' With that, she bent her snow-white knee, And him she sweetly kist! With that, the Shepherd whooped for joy! Quoth he, 'There's never Shepherd's boy That ever was so blest!' |