Chanson. - And Imitation

A poem by Matthew Prior

Que fais tu bergere dans ce beau verger
Tu ne songe gueres a me soulager?
Tu connois ma flamme, tu vois ma langueur,
Prens belle inhumaine pitie de mon coeur.

Dequoy te plains tu malheureux berger?
Que n'ay je point fait pour te soulager!
J'ay quitte la plaine, mon troupeau, mon chien,
Prend on tat de peine quand on n'aime rien.


Why thus from the plain does my sheperdess rove,
Forsaking her swain and neglecting his love?
You have heard all my grief, you see how I die,
Oh! give some relief to the swain whom you fly.

How can you complain, or what am I to say,
Since my dog lies unfed, and my sheep run astray?
Need I tell what I mean that I languish alone!
When I leave all the plain you may guess 'tis for one.

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