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THE FOLK-SONGS OF POITOU. 231
A pie of tender larks,
And cakes so sweet and good, And see, beneath my mantle A flask of grapes' rich blood.
Alas, my faithful shepherd, In what place shall we sleep ?
Above, in my thatched cottage, Within the wood so deep.
I have a place of shelter Wherein no cold can creep.
Alas, my faithful shepherd,
What if my father knew ? Tell him, my beloved,
That your shepherd true Came upon the mountain
To keep the wolf from you.
In Le Berger qui me fait le Cour, the shepherdess displays more grace and sentiment in refusing to point out the identity of her lover, while avowing her charming and spontaneous affection.
THE SHEPHERD WHO MAKES LOVE TO ME.
The shepherd who makes love to me, The shepherd who makes love to me, Is the bravest you can see. Ask me not to tell you more.
I lead my sheep upon the plain, I lead my sheep upon the plain,