Classic Poem

Did not you once, Lucinda, vow
You would have none but me? Lu:
Aye, but my mother tells me now
I must love wealth, not thee. Sh:
'Tis not my fault my sheep are lean,
Or that they are so few. Lu:
Nor mine. I cannot love so mean,
So poor a thing as you. Sh:
Cruel, thy love is in thy power,
Fortune is not in mine. Lu:
But shepherd, think how great my dower
Is in respect of thine. Sh:

Ah me! Lu: Ah me! Sh: Mock you my grief? Lu:
I pity thy hard fate. Sh:
Pity for love is poor relief,
I'd rather choose thy hate. Lu:
But I must love thee. Sh: No. Lu: Believe,
I'll seal it with a kiss,
And give thee no more cause to grieve
Than what thou findst in this. Sh: Lu:
Be witness then you powers above,
And by these holy bands,
Let it appear that truest love
Grows not from wealth or lands.