And as she romed here, and there, Y-picking of the bloomed brier, She chanced to espie A Shepheard sitting on a bank, Like Chanticleere—he crowed crank, And piped with merry glee. 7. He leerd his Sheep as he him list, When he would whistle in his fist, To feed about him round, Whilst he full many a Caroll sung, That all the fields, and meadowes rung, And made the woods resound. 8. In favour this same Shepheard Swaine Was like the Bedlam Tamerlaine, That kept proud Kings in awe. But meek he was as meek mought be, Yea like the gentle _Abell_, he Whom his lewd brother slew. 9. This Shepheard ware a freeze-gray Cloake, The which was of the finest locke, That could be cut with Sheere: His Aule and Lingell in a Thong, His Tar-box by a broad belt hung, His Cap of Minivere. 10. His Mittens were of Bausons skin, His Cockers were of Cordowin, His Breech of country blew: All curle, and crisped were his Locks, His brow more white then _Albion_ Rocks: So like a Lover true. 11. And piping he did spend the day, As merry as a Popinjay, Which lik’d faire _Dowsabell_, That wod she ought, or wod she nought, The Shepheard would not from her thought, In love she longing fell: 12. With that she tucked up her Frock, (White as the Lilly was her Smock,) And drew the Shepheard nigh, But then the Shepheard pip’d a good, That all his Sheep forsook their food, To heare his melody. 13. Thy Sheep (quoth she) cannot be lean, That have so faire a Shepheard Swain, That can his Pipe so well: I but (quoth he) the Shepheard may, If Piping thus he pine away, For love of _Dowsabell_. 14. Of love (fond boy) take thou no keep, Look well (quoth she) unto thy Sheep; Lest they should chance to stray. So had I done (quoth he) full well, Had I not seen faire _Dowsabell_, Come forth to gather May. 15. I cannot stay (quoth she) till night, And leave my Summer Hall undight, And all for love of men. Yet are you, quoth he, too unkind, If in your heart you cannot find, To love us now and then. 16. And I will be to thee as kind, As _Collin_ was to _Rosalinde_, Of courtesie the flower. And I will be as true (quoth she) As ever Lover yet mought be, Unto her Paramour. 17. With that the Maiden bent her knee, Down by the Shepheard kneeled she, And sweetly she him kist. But then the Shepheard whoop’d for joy, (Quoth he) was never Shepheards boy, That ever was so blist. _Upon the ~Scots~ being beaten at ~Muscleborough~ field._ On the twelfth day of _December_, In the fourth year of King _Edwards_ reign[,] Two mighty Hosts (as I remember) At _Muscleborough_ did pitch on a Plain. For a down, down, derry derry down, Hey down a, Down, down, down a down derry.