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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.
