And piping still he spent the day
So merry as the popinjay,
Which likéd Dowsabell,
That would she ought, or would she nought,
This lad would never from her thought,
She in love-longing fell.
At length she tuckéd up her frock,
White as the lily was her smock;
She drew the shepherd nigh;
But then the shepherd piped a good,
That all the sheep forsook their food,
To hear his melodie.
“Thy sheep,” quoth she, “cannot be lean
That have a jolly shepherd swain
The which can pipe so well.”
“Yea, but,” saith he, “their shepherd may,
If piping thus he pine away
In love of Dowsabell.”
“Of love, fond boy, take then no keep,” [95b]
Quoth she; “Look well unto thy sheep,
Lest they should hap to stray.”
Quoth he, “So had I done full well,
Had I not seen fair Dowsabell
Come forth to gather may.”
With that she ’gan to vail her head,
Her cheeks were like the roses red,
But not a word she said.
With that the shepherd ’gan to frown,
He threw his pretty pipes adown,
And on the ground him laid.
Saith she, “I may not stay till night
And leave my summer-hall undight,
And all for love of thee.”
“My cote,” saith he, “nor yet my fold
Shall neither sheep nor shepherd hold,
Except thou favour me.”
Saith she, “Yet liever were I dead
Than I should [yield me to be wed],
And all for love of men.”
Saith he, “Yet are you too unkind
If in your heart you cannot find
To love us now and then.
“And I to thee will be as kind
As Colin was to Rosalind
Of courtesy the flower.”
“Then will I be as true,” quoth she,
“As ever maiden yet might be
Unto her paramour.”
With that she bent her snow-white knee
Down by the shepherd kneeléd she,
And him she sweetly kist.
With that the shepherd whooped for joy.
Quoth he, “There’s never shepherd’s boy
That ever was so blist.”