Who made thee, Hob, forsake the Plough?
Who made thee Hob forsake the Plough, and fall in love?
Sweet beauty which hath power to bow the gods above
What, dost thou serve a shepherdess?
Ay, such as hath no peer I guess
What is her name who bears thy heart within her breast?
Sylvana fair of high desert whom I love best
Oh Hob, I fear she looks too high
Yet love I must or else I die