Marian's Complaint

Since truth ha' left the shepherd's tongue,
Adieu the cheerful pipe and song;
Adieu the dance at closing day,
And, ah, the happy morn of May.

How oft he told me I was fair.
And wove the garland for my hair:
How oft for Marian stript the bower,
To fill my lap with eveiy flower!

No more his gifts of guile I'll wear,
But from my brow the chaplet tear;
The crook he gave in pieces break.
And rend his ribbons from my neck.

How oft he vow'd a constant flame.
And carved on every oak my name!
Blush, Colin, that the wounded tree
Is all that will remember me.