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Dans Les Airs
Le Berger
The beauty is in prison of love
For a month and six weeks
Her father who has looking for her all over
And her lover, is sad

Must go and see the sheperd
If he hasn’t se her, let him inform us
Sheperd, sheperd haven’t you see her
Here passing the beauty

How was-she dressed ?
She was with silk and wool
With a white satin underskirt
And in her hands woollen gloves

Oh ! yes indeed yes I saw her
Here passing the beauty
In her right hand carrying a bird
To whom the beauty told her sorrows

Bird, bird you who is happy
You who could speak to my Beauty
Me who was her lover
Who could merely speak to her

Must we pass along a brook
Unable to drink one ‘s thirsty
Drink, drink, lovers drink !
Hardly who can speak to her

Must we pass along a rose bush
Without picking the rose
Pick, pick, lover pick
For it is for you that rose open