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 And while he lay bleeding, this young Lady drew near, And she rav'd, as distracted, for the loss of her dear!

O curs'd be your riches, since to true love such a foe! For my joys are transformed to a life of deep woe! Then, said the dying Shepherd, No, my love stays with you; What's mine shall evince it, as the flock you go throw:

Ihey're fifteen in number, my stock is but small, And is all I have saved, since I knew Shepherd-hall; Love, they will attend you, where-ever you go, And be your companions thro' the hail, wind and snow;

Then she took up his crook, his hat, and his plaid, And as a painful shepherdess ever since she's array'd.