Not as of yore on foot, I trow,
Or in albarcas goes he now;
Albarcas made of slain wolf hide,
In blood of cow or heifer dyed.
O snow-white pointed shoes wore he,
Green stockings gartered at the knee;
Button composed of burning glass,
Presented, mind ye, by his lass.
How happy the shepherd who finally gains
The beautiful prize of his manifold pains.
What a knight of gallant air
Rides he forth on sorrel mare;
Saddle of Friezeland leather made,
Fringe of the most dainty thread.
Sombrero new, of neatest shape,
Mantle long with lengthy cape,
Sayo green, obscure to see,
Graced with much embroidery.
How happy the shepherd who finally gains
The beautiful prize of his labour and pains.
By the guise in which he’s drest,
His hopes are visibly exprest;
Hopes which so often damped and chilled
Are on the point to be fulfilled.
Within his bosom he doth bear
All the billets of his dear;
They are so many bills which he
Is bent to settle speedily.
Happy the shepherd who finally gains
The beautiful prize of his manifold pains.
Arriving at the house he saw,
Waiting for him, his father-in-law,
Who, good-bye to scoffs and slights,
Holds his stirrup whilst he lights.
Lovely Philis at the door
Calls him “husband” and “senor;”
He “senora” and “dear wife”
Calleth her, they’re one for life.
Happy the shepherd who finally gains
The beautiful prize of his manifold pains.
THE YEW TREE
O tree of yew, which here I spy,
By Forida’s famed monastery;
Beneath thee lies, by cold death bound,
The tongue for sweetness once renown’d.