_1st Shepherd._ Lord! what, these weathers are cold, and I am ill happed; I am near hand-dold,[86] so long have I napped; My legs bend and fold, my fingers are chapped, It is not as I would, for I am all lapped In sorrow. In storms and tempest, Now in the east, now in the west, Woe is him has never rest, Mid day nor morrow. But we silly shepherds, that walk upon the moor, In faith, we are near hands out of the door; No wonder, as it stands, if we be poor, For the tilth of our lands lies fallow as the floor, We are so lamed, So taxed and shamed, We are made hand-tamed, With these gentlery-men. Thus they rieve us of rest, Our Lady them wary, These men that are lord-fest,[87] they cause the plough tarry. That men say is for the best, we find it contrary, Thus are husbands[88] opprest, in point to miscarry, In life. Thus hold they us under, Thus they bring us in blunder, It were great wonder, And ever should we thrive. For may he get a paint sleeve,[89] or a brooch now on days, Woe is he that shall grieve, or once again says, Dare no man him reprieve, what mast'ry he has, And yet may none believe one word that he says-- No letter. He can make purveyance, With boast and bragance,[90] And all through maintenance, Of men that are greater. There shall come a swain, as proud as a po,[91] He must borrow my wain, my plough also, Then I am full fain to grant or he go. Thus live we in pain, anger, and woe, By night and day; He must have if he longéd If I should forgang[92] it, I were better be hangéd Than once say him nay. It does me good, as I walk thus by mine own, Of this world for to talk in manner of moan To my sheep will I stalk and hearken anon There abide on a balk, or sit on a stone Full soon. For I trow, pardie! True men if they be, We get more company Or it be noon.