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A shepherd sat 'neath a tree one dayAnd as the shadows grew more longPull'd out his pipe and began to playAnd sweet and merry was his song.
A country damsel from the townWith basket made of woven strawCame gathering rushes on the downAnd boldly smiled when she him saw.
The shepherd's pipe did gaily soundAs tempting on her back she layAnd when his quivering note she foundHow sweetly then this lass could play.
She ne'er so much as blush'd at all So sweetly play'd her shepherd swainBut e'er anon to him she'd callTo play her another double strain.
The shepherd again did tune his pipeAnd play'd her a lesson loud and shrill.The maid his face did often wipeWith many a thank for his good will.
She said, "I ne'er was so pleas'd beforeAnd this is the first time that I knew thee.Come play me this very tune once moreAnd never doubt that I'll dance to thee."
The shepherd, he said, "As I am a man,I have kept playing from sun till moon.Thou knowst I can do no more than I can,My pipe is clearly out of tune."
"To ruin a shepherd, I'll not seek," She said as she kiss'd him 'neath the tree. "I'll come again to the down next week And thou shalt pipe and I'll come to thee."
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