The Milk-Maid. 



THE MILK-MAID'S SONG. 



G'ome live with me, and be my love ; 

 And we will all the pleasures prove, 

 That valleys, groves, or hills, or field, 

 Or woods, and steepy mountains yield,- 



Where we will sit, upon the rocks, 

 And see the shepherds feed our flocks, 

 By shallow rivers ; to whose falls, 

 Melodious birds sing madrigals. 



And I will make thee beds of roses ; 

 And, then, a thousand fragrant posies ; 

 A cap of flowers ; and a kirtle, 

 Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle ; 



A gown made of the finest wool, 

 Which from our pretty lambs we pull : 

 Slippers, lined choicely for the cold ; 

 With buckles of the purest gold; 



