The Wandering Shepherdess of Exeter/Chapter 1

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The Wandering Shepherdess of Exeter by Anonymous
The Wandering Shepherdess of Exeter, A True Love Song



TuneFactor's Garland.

Come all you old misers
who heap up your gold,
For to ruin your children,
who's love's oft controul'd,
By such old fractious parents,
who 'gainst wedlock proves foe,
Which oft proves young lovers' ruin,
and sad overthrow.

In the County of Exeter
there liv'd a rich 'Squire,
Who had a young daughter,
by birth-right his heir;
But she lov'd a young Shepherd
far below her degree,
Which, alas! prov'd their ruin's
and sad misery.

When her father came to know it,
in a passion he did go,
And he slew the young Shepherd
with one fatal blow!

And while he lay bleeding,
this young Lady drew near,
And she rav'd, as distracted,
for the loss of her dear!

O curs'd be your riches,
since to true love such a foe!
For my joys are transformed
to a life of deep woe!
Then, said the dying Shepherd,
No, my love stays with you;
What's mine shall evince it,
as the flock you go throw:

Ihey're fifteen in number,
my stock is but small,
And is all I have saved,
since I knew Shepherd-hall;
Love, they will attend you,
where-ever you go,
And be your companions
thro' the hail, wind and snow;

Then she took up his crook,
his hat, and his plaid,
And as a painful shepherdess
ever since she's array'd.

O she went throw the flock,
and his sheep to her came,
All a-bleating, her intreating,
his love to proclaim.

O she wept and lamented,
and a way she did go:
And still they attend her,
thro' the cold rain and snow.
Now her Shepherd's no more,
and her father soon died,
For the loss of his child,
and the murder beside.

But still she keeps a-wandering
with the sheep, for to show
That true love is more powerful
than old misers do know.
She has travel'd over Englaud,
now to Scotland she's come,
For to show love's controulers
what may be their doom.

Nor such an instance of true love,
dumb brutes ne'er did show,
In respect they bare to her,
and obeying her so.

The old Ram she calls Charlie,
and Charlotte the Ewe,
As Andrew and Sally,
their own names they all know.

When she wants them to tarry
on any green plain,
Now, says she, you must say
until I come again.
Then with humble submission,
they always do so,
But when she long tarries,
then a-mourning they go:

With bleating and fretting,
they seem to lament;
And when she returns,
then they run to her bent:
And by way of their welcome,
bleats up in her face;
And such instance of love
was ne'er seen in such beasts.

She is no impostor,
it's very well known;
And asks no supply,
but still lives on her own:

And if she would return
to her father's bright hall,
She might live in great splendour,
but that she ne'er shall:

But says that she'll wander
till death end the strife,
In lamenting her Shepherd,
that she was not his wife:
And thro' many strange countries
with her flock loves to go,
For to show cruel parents,
what true love can do.