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But he unkindly stole away,

And left his love at Shackley-hay. So loud at Shackley did she cry,

The words resound at Shackley-hay.

But all in vain she did complain,

For nothing could him move, Till wind did turn him back again,

And brought him to his love : When she saw him thus turn'd by fate,

She turn'd her love to mortal hate, Then weeping to her did he say,

I'll live with thee at Shackley-hay.

No, no, quoth she, I thee deny,

My love thou once did scorn, And my prayers wouldst not hear,

But left me here forlorn, And now being turn’d by fate of wind, Thou thinkst to win me to thy mind, Go, go, farewell, I thee deny, Thou shall not live at Shackley-hay.

If that thou do'st my love disdain,

Because I live on seas, Or that I am ferryman,

My Sheldra doth displease,

I will no more in that estate,

Be servile unto wind and fate,
But quite forsake boats, oars, and sea,

And live with thee at Shackley-hay.

My Sheldra's bed shall be my boat,

Her arms shall be my oars, Where love instead of storms shall float

On pleasant downs and shores; Her sweetest breath my gentle gale,

Through tides of love to drive my sail, Her look my praise, and her my joy,

To live with me at Shackley-hay.

Not Phaon shall with me compare,

So fortunate to prove :
Fair Venus never was his fare,

I'll bear the queen of love;
The working waters never fear,

For Cupid's self our barge shall steer, And to the shore I still will cry, My Sheldra comes to Shackley-hay.

To strew my boat for thy avail,

I'll rob the flowery shores, And whilst thou guid'st the silken sail,

I'll row with silver oars;

And as upon the streams we float,
A thousand swans shall guide our boat,
And to the shore still will I

My Sheldra comes to Shackley-hay:

And have a story painted there,

Wherein there shall be seen,
How Sappho lov'd a ferryman,

Being a learned queen :
In golden letters shall be writ,

How well in love himself he quit,
That all the lasses still shall cry,

With Palmus we'll to Shackley-hay.

And walking lazily to the strand,

We'll angle in the brook,
And fish with thy white lilly hand,

Thou need’st no other hook :
To which the fish shall soon be brought,

And strive which shall the first be caught, A thousand pleasures will we try,

As we do row to Shackley-hay.

And if we be opprest with heat,

In mid-time of the day,
Under the willows tall and great,

Shall be our quiet bay,

Where I will make thee fans of boughs,

From Phoebus' beams to shade thy brows, And cause them at the ferry cry,

A boat, a boat to Shackley-hay.

A troop of dainty neighbouring girls

Shall dance along the strand,
Upon the gravel all of pearls,

To wait when thou shalt land,
And cast themselves about thee round,

Whilst thou with garlands shalt be crown’d, And all the shepherds with joy shall cry,

O Sheldra, come to Shackley-hay

Although I did myself absent,

'Twas but to try thy mind;
But now thou mayst thyself repent

For being so unkind;
For now thou art turn’d by wind and fate,

Instead of love thou hast purchas'd hate,
Therefore return thee to the sea,

And bid farewell to Shackley-hay.


Thus all in vain did he complain,

And no remorse could find,
Young Palmus, through his own disdain,

Made Sheldra fair unkind,

And she is from him fled and gone;

He laid him in his boat alone, And so betook him to the sea,

And bade farewell to Shackley-hay.

Then from the happy sandy shore,

Into the floating waves
His vessel, fraught with brinish tears,

Into the main he laves :
But all in vain, for why, he still

With weeping eyes his boat did fill ; And launcht his boat into the sea,

And bad farewell to Shackley-hay

Now farewell to my Sheldra fair,

Whom I no more shall see,
I mean to lead my life at sea,

By thy inconstancy.
Come, Neptune, come, to thee I cry,

With thee I'll live, with thee I'll die, Thus he launch'd himself into the sea,

And bad farewell to Shackley-hay.

But far from thence he had not gone,

Ere Sheldra fair return’d, Whose heart kind pity made to moan,

Such passion in her burn’d:

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