None to caress and love have I but thee.
Why art thou not some tender shepherd swain,
Then loving thee would ease my weary pain.
My sister Susan, she is fair and tall,
And she may choose among the shepherds all,
And she is called sweet names—my dear, my pet;
Ah me! I’m brown, and I’m too little yet.
Then stepping forth from a concealing shade,
A youth beyond compare approached the maid,
And, whisp’ring softly in her startled ear,