7
They parted that night the next morning to meet,
In the sweet pasture where she kept her sheep,
And the next morning just as the sun arose,
This perjured wretch to the Shepherdess goes;
No one being there, he to her did say,
Come, madam, strip off that gaudy array;
As I’m come so far a harlot to see,
I am resolved your butcher to be.
Can’st thou be so cruel, to him she did say,
My innocent life thus to take away?
What harm, my dear jewel, have I done to thee,
The crime it was yours in deluding me.
Vile strumpet, dost thou presume for to prate,
Come, yield to my sword, for no longer I'll wait.
She to him for mercy did bitterly cry,
But he, hard-hearted wretch, had no mercy.
But finding with him she could not prevail,
O heaven! said she, since all flesh is frail,
Pardon my crimes, which are many, she cries,
Now, traitor, I’m ready for your sacrifice.
She opened her breast far whiter than snow,
He pierced her heart whilst the crimson did flow.
Her body he threw in a river near,
And thus died the beauty of fair Oxfordshire.
Then home he returned, and when he came there,
He wandered about like a man in despair;
