Horny shepherds’ song within a song

Transhumance is in the air, so here’s a smutty song from a commie from Zaragoza:

Los pastores se van, se van,
Los pastores lloran, lloran:
¡ay de mí, pobre pastora!
¿con quién follarás tú ahora?

Rejigged:

The shepherds are going, they’re going again,
The shepherds are weeping, they’re wailing this strain:
“Alas, alack, oh Phyllis my dear,
Who will you fuck now you’re in the clear?”

What the shepherds will get up to is just as unpredictable. The mountains here are quieter than 200 years ago, when the local rector apparently threatened to excommunicate the entire village if they didn’t prevent young girls from witnessing and imitating the beasts at work in springtime, but there’s still the odd hint of lust in the hedgerows:

Lonely shepherdess

[
A brief inspection of Corde reveals this verse in another form, credited by Rafael Alberti to the cowherds of Luarca, Asturias:

Los vaqueiros vanse, vanse,
Los vaqueiros lloran, lloran,
¡ay de mí, pobre, cuitado,
con quién dormiré yo ahora!

]

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