THROUGH the shrubs as I can crack For my lambs, little ones, 'Mongst many pretty ones, Nymphs I mean, whose hair was black As the crow; Like the snow Her face and brows shin'd, I ween; I saw a little one, A bonny pretty one, As bright, buxom, and as sheen, As was she On her knee That lull'd the god whose arrow warms Such merry little ones, Such fair-fac'd pretty ones, As dally in love's chiefest harms: Such was mine, Whose grey eyne Made me love. I gan to woo This sweet little one, This bonny pretty one; I woo'd hard a day or two, Till she bade "Be not sad, Woo no more, I am thine own, Thy dearest little one, Thy truest pretty one": Thus was faith and firm love shown, As behoves Shepherds' loves. |