A shepherd sat 'neath a tree one day
And as the shadows grew more long
Pull'd out his pipe and began to play
And sweet and merry was his song.
A country damsel from the town
With basket made of woven straw
Came gathering rushes on the down
And boldly smiled when she him saw.
The shepherd's pipe did gaily sound
As tempting on her back she lay
And when his quivering note she found
How sweetly then this lass could play.
She ne'er so much as blush'd at all
So sweetly play'd her shepherd swain
But e'er anon to him she'd call
To play her another double strain.
The shepherd again did tune his pipe
And play'd her a lesson loud and shrill.
The maid his face did often wipe
With many a thank for his good will.
She said, "I ne'er was so pleas'd before
And this is the first time that I knew thee.
Come play me this very tune once more
And never doubt that I'll dance to thee."
The shepherd, he said, "As I am a man,
I have kept playing from sun till moon.
Thou knowst I can do no more than I can,
My pipe is clearly out of tune."
"To ruin a shepherd, I'll not seek,"
She said as she kiss'd him 'neath the tree.
"I'll come again to the down next week
And thou shalt pipe and I'll come to thee."
From Ed McCurdy's Song Book of Wit & Mirth
Wit and Mirth: Or Pills to Purge Melancholy