Classic Poem

In the county of Essex there lived a squire,
And he had a daughter most beautiful and fair,
But she loved a shepherd below her degree,
Which caused her ruin and sad misery.

When her father came to know of it his passion grew hot,
And with a loaded pistol the shepherd he shot,
And as he lay bleeding this lady came by,
Which caused her to weep and to cry bitterly.

‘Oh cursed be the gold, my true love lies slain,
My joys are transported to sorrow and pain.’
‘Alas,’ said the shepherd, ‘no-one can my life save,
But a wonder you'll see when I'm laid in my grave.’

She took up his crook, his cloak and his plaid,
And like a true shepherd through the valley she strode,
When she got to the hill all the sheep to her came,
Bleating and entreating her true love to obtain.

The old ram she called Andrew, with Sally his dam,
Both Johnny and Charlotte they both knew their own name.
If she wanted them to stay on any green plain,
She said, ‘You stay there until I come again.’

With humble submission they always do so,
When she stays away long they all bleating do go,
With humble submission they bleat in her face,
There's no such a token in the whole human race.

She wandered through England, to Scotland she came,
Ye true true love controllers, I'll tell you her doom.
Her shepherd's no more and her father soon died,
For the loss of a daughter and a murder beside.

‘If I could return to my father's bright halls,
I might live in splendour, but that I ne'er shall.
I wander alone till death ends the strife,
And lament for my shepherd all the days of my life.’