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