| |
| IT fell upon a holly eve, | |
| Hey ho, hollidaye! | |
| When holly fathers wont to shrieve, | |
| Now gynneth this roundelay. | |
| Sitting upon a hill so hye, | 5 |
| Hey ho, the high hyll! | |
| The while my flocke did feede thereby, | |
| The while the shepheard selfe did spill: | |
| |
| I saw the bounching Bellibone, | |
| Hey ho, Bonibell! | 10 |
| Tripping over the dale alone: | |
| She can trippe it very well; | |
| Well decked in a frocke of gray, | |
| Hey ho, gray is greete! | |
| And in a kirtle of greene, saye, | 15 |
| The greene is for maydens meete. | |
| |
| A chapelet on her head she wore, | |
| Hey ho, chapelet! | |
| Of sweete violets therein was store, | |
| —She sweeter then the violet. | 20 |
| My sheepe did leave theyr wonted foode, | |
| Hey ho, seely sheepe! | |
| And gazd on her, as they were wood, | |
| —Woode as he, that did them keepe. | |
| |
| As the bonnilasse passed bye, | 25 |
| Hey ho, bonilasse! | |
| She rovde at me with glauncing eye, | |
| As cleare as the christall glasse: | |
| All as the sunnye beame so bright, | |
| Hey ho, the sunne beame! | 30 |
| Glaunceth from Phœbus face forthright, | |
| So love into my hart did streame: | |
| |
| Or as the thonder cleaves the cloudes, | |
| Hey ho, the thonder! | |
| Wherein the lightsome levin shroudes, | 35 |
| So cleaves thy soule asonder: | |
| Or as Dame Cynthias silver raye | |
| Hey ho, the moonelight! | |
| Upon the glyttering wave doth playe: | |
| Such play is a pitteous plight! | 40 |
| |
| The glaunce into my heart did glide, | |
| Hey ho, the glyder! | |
| Therewith my soule was sharply gryde; | |
| Such woundes soone wexen wider. | |
| Hasting to raunch the arrow out, | 45 |
| Hey ho, Perigot! | |
| I left the head in my hart roote: | |
| It was a desperate shot. | |
| |
| There it ranckleth ay more and more, | |
| Hey ho, the arrowe! | 50 |
| Ne can I find salve for my sore: | |
| Love is a cureless sorrowe. | |
| And though my bale with death I brought, | |
| Hey ho, heavie cheere! | |
| Yet should thilk lasse not from my thought: | 55 |
| So you may buye gold to deare. | |
| |
| But whether in paynefull love I pyne, | |
| Hey ho, pinching payne! | |
| Or thrive in welth, she shalbe mine. | |
| But if thou can her obteine. | 60 |
| And if for gracelesse griefe I dye, | |
| Hey ho, graceless griefe! | |
| Witnesse, shee slewe me with her eye: | |
| Let thy follye be the priefe. | |
| |
| And you that sawe it, simple shepe, | 65 |
| Hey ho, the fayre flocke! | |
| For priefe thereof my death shall weepe, | |
| And mone with many a mocke. | |
| So learnd I love on a hollye eve,— | |
| Hey ho, holidaye! | 70 |
| That ever since my hart did greve: | |
| Now endeth our roundelay. | |
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