As on a Summer's Day

As on a summer's day, In the greenwood shade I lay, The maid that I lov'd, As her fancy mov'd, Came walking forth that way.

And as she passed by, With a scornful glance of her eye, What a shame, quoth she, For a swain must it be, Like a lazy loon for to lie?

And dost thou nothing heed What pan our God has decreed What a prize to day Shall be given away, To the sweetest shepherd's reed.

There's not a single swain, Of all this fruitful plain, But with hopes and fears, Now busily prepares The bonny boon to gain.

Shall another maiden shine In brighter array than thine Up, up, dull swain, Tune thy pipe once again And make the garland mine.

Alas! my love, I cry'd, What avails this courtly pride? Since thy dear desert Is written in my heart, What is all the world beside?

To me thou art more gay In this homely russet gray, Than the nymphs of our green, So trim and so sheen, Or the brightest queen of May.

What tho' my fortune frown, And deny thee a silk in gown; My own dear maid, Be content with this shade And a shepherd all thy own.