Up ye lazie grooms, and fill
Bagg and Bottle for the field;
Clasp your cloaks fast, lest they yield
To the bitter North-east wind.
Call the Maidens up, and find
Who lay longest, that she may
Goe without a friend all day;
Then reward your Dogs, and pray
_Pan_ to keep you from decay:
So unfold and then away.
What not a Shepherd stirring? sure the grooms
Have found their beds too easie, or the rooms
Fill'd with such new delight, and heat, that they
Have both forgot their hungry sheep, and day;
Knock, that they may remember what a shame
Sloath and neglect layes on a Shepherds name.
_Old Shep_. It is to little purpose, not a swain
This night hath known his lodging here, or lain
Within these cotes: the woods, or some near town,
That is a neighbour to the bordering Down,
Hath drawn them thither, 'bout some lustie sport,
Or spiced Wassel-Boul, to which resort
All the young men and maids of many a cote,
Whilst the trim Minstrel strikes his merry note.
_Priest_. God pardon sin, show me the way that leads
To any of their haunts.
_Old Shep_. This to the meads,
And that down to the woods.
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