When first my shepherd told his tale

When first my shepherd told his tale, He droop'd and languish'd, look'd and sigh'd: Good lord, thought I, and then turn'd pale, How often men for love have died! Then pond'ring well, thought I again, 'Tis pity hurt so sweet a swain.

With such a sigh my hand he press'd My heart was fill'd with wild alarms, That bouncing, bouncing at my breast, Cry'd, take him, take him to your arms; My thoughts pursu'd the same old strain, 'Tis pity hurt so sweet a swain.

My wishes rouz'd his cause to plead, Got warmly up, in saucy bands, And cry'd, for shame, to make him bleed, And get a murder on your hands: Wishes, you're right, said I, that's plain, So took compassion on the swain.