Louis Bagger, Tamara Crout-Mathews & The New York Consort of Viols
who made thee
Select language to translate this lyric
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.
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