Classic Poem

Chloris, since thou art fled away,
Amyntas' sheep are gone astray,
And all the joys he us'd to see,
These pretty lambs run after thee.
She's gone, she's gone, and halladay,
Cries nothing else but walladay, walladay.

The embroider'd scrip he used to wear
Neglected hangs, so doth his hair,
His crook is broke, dog whining lies,
And he himself nothing but cries—
Chloris, O Chloris, come away,
And heal Amyntas' walladay, walladay.

His pipe, whereon he used to play
So oft to her a roundelay,
Is cast aside, and not a swain
Dares pipe or play upon the plain.
It's death for any one to say
One word to him but walladay, walladay.

Yon May pole, where her pretty feet
In their due measure oft did meet,
Is broken down, and no content
Comes near Amyntas since she went,
But all that e'er I've heard him say
Was, Chloris, Chloris, come away, come away.

The ground whereon she used to tread,
He ever since hath laid his head,
And suffer'd there such pining woe,
That not a blade of grass doth grow.
O Chloris, Chloris, come away,
And heal Amyntas' walladay, walladay.