"In time of yore when shepherds dwelt Upon the mountain rocks, And simple people never felt The pain of lovers’ mocks; But little birds would carry tales ’Twixt Susan and her sweeting, And all the dainty nightingales Did sing at lovers’ meeting: Then might you see what looks did pass Where shepherds did assemble, And where the life of true love was When hearts could not dissemble.Then yea and nay was thought an oath That was not to be doubted, And when it came to faith and troth We were not to be flouted. Then did they talk of curds and cream, Of butter, cheese and milk; There was no speech of sunny beam Nor of the golden silk. Then for a gift a row of pins, A purse, a pair of knives, Was all the way that love begins; And so the shepherd wives.But now we have so much ado, And are so sore aggrievèd, That when we go about to woo We cannot be believèd; Such choice of jewels, rings and chains, That may but favour move, And such intolerable pains Ere one can hit on love; That if I still shall bide this life ’Twixt love and deadly hate, I will go learn the country life Or leave the lover’s state."