. To love them wele; for never a dele they love a man agayne: For late a man do what he can, theyr favour to attayne, Yet, yf a newe do them pursue, theyr fyrst true lover than Laboureth for nought; for from her thought he is a banyshed man. I B. say nat, nay, but that all day it is bothe writ and sayd, That womens fayth is, as who sayth, all utterly decayed: But, neverthelesse, ryght good wytnèsse in this case might be layed, That they love true, and continùe; recorde the notbrowne mayde; Which, when her love came, her to prove, to her to make his mone, Wolde nat depart; for in her hart she loved but hym alone. A. Than betwayne us late us dyscus what was all the manère Betwayne them two: we wyll also tell all the payne, and fere, That she was in: nowe I begyn, so that ye me an swère ; Wherefore, all ye, that present be, I pray you give an ere: I am the knyght; I come by nýght, as secret as I can; Sayinge, Alas, thus standeth the case, I am a ba nyshed man. B. And I your wyll for to fulfyll in this wyll nat re fuse; Trustynge to shewe in wordes fewe, that men have na yll use (To theyr own shame) women to blame, and causelesse them accuse: Therfore to you I answere nowe, all women to ex cuse, Myne owne hart dere, with you what chere? I pray you, tell anone; For, in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you alone. A. It standeth so; a dede is do, whereof grete harme shall growe: My destiny is for to dy a shamefull deth, I trowe; Or elles to fle: the one must be; none other way I knowe, But to withdrawe as an outlawe, and take me to my bowe. Wherfore, adue, my owne hart true! none other rede I can; For I must to the grene wode go, alone, a banyshed man. B. O Lorde, what is this worldys blysse, that chaungeth as the mone! The somers day in lusty May is derked before the none. I here you say, farewell; nay, nay, we départ nat so sone: Why say ye so? wheder wyll ye go? alas, what have ye done? All my welfare to sorrowe and care sholde chaunge, yf ye were gone; For, in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you alone. A. I can beleve, it shall you greve, and somwhat you dystrayne: But, aftyrwarde, your paynes harde within a day or twayne Shall sone aslake; and ye shall take comfort to you agayne. Why sholde ye ought? for, to make thought, your labour were in vayne. And thus I do; and pray you to, as hartely as I can; For I must to the grene wode go, alone, a banyshed man. B. Now, syth that ye have shewed to me the secret of your mynde, I shall be playne to you agayne, lyke as ye shall me fynde : Syth it is so that ye wyll go, I wolle not leve be hynde; Shall it never be sayd, the Notbrowne mayd was to her love unkynde: [anone; Make you redy; for so am I, although it were For, in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you alone. Yet I A. you rede to take good hede what men wyll thynke and say: Of younge and olde it shall be tolde, that gone away; ye be Your wanton wyll for to fulfill, in grene wode you to play; And that ye myght from your delyght no lenger make delay: Rather than ye sholde thus for me be called an yll woman, Yet wolde I to the grene wode go, alone, a banyshed man. B. Though it be songe of olde and yonge, that I sholde be to blame, Theyrs be the charge that speke so large in hurtynge of my name: For I wyll prove, that faythful love it is devoyd of shame; In your dystresse, and hevynesse, to part wyth you, the same; To shewe all tho that do nat so, true lovers are they none: For, in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you alone. A. I counceyle you, remember howe it is no mayden's lawe, Nothynge to dout, but to renne out to wode with an outlawe: For ye must there in your hand bere a bowe, redy to drawe; And, as a thefe, thus must you lyve, ever in drede and awe; Whereby to you grete harme myght growe: yet had I lever than, That I had to the grene wode go, alone, a banyshed man. B. I say nat, nay, but as ye say, it is no mayden's lore: But love may make me, for your sake, as I have sayd before, To come on fote, to hunt, and shote, to get us mete in store; For so that I your company may have, I aske no more: From which to part, it maketh my hart as colde as ony stone; For, in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you alone. A. For an outlawe, this is the lawe,—that men hym |