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"Noe, I wyll not bee rob'd in greene, "Thy flatterye alle I fcorne: "Nor will I bee of Maye the queene, "To hunte with earlye horne; "But I will rove, both day and nighte, "Thro' ftormye hail and winde; "Nor blefs the light that chears my fighte, "Till I my true love finde."

PART THE SECOND.

THE forrefter blithe nowe rode awaye,
And blew hys founding horne,
While by the moate the mayden laye,

All defolate and forlorne:

Yet fill fhe cry'd, "Tho' I fhed the teare, "And heave full many a fighe,

"Yet ever I'll love thee, youthe fo deare, "And for thee I will dye."

All this behearde the baron gaye,

In the lone tow're where hee fat,

And with manye a fighe hee tooke hys waye,

And came to the caftle gate.

And there hee fawe the mayden laye,

By the moate fide alle forlorne;
And alle for the love of a youthe fo gaye,
Who had treated her with fcorne.

Her cheeke, once red as fummer rofe,
Nowe pale as wintry skies;
And wan her cherry lips dyd clofe,

That her love dyd once fo prize;
And colde, colde was that lilly hand,
That hee foe ofte had prefte -

Full manye a figh (as hee there did ftande)

The baron's woe confefte.

The mayden tolde her piteous tale,
With manye a fighe and teare,

How fhee for her love, thro' heate and colde,
Had wander'd farre and neare.

"Alas! deare may de," the baron figh'd,

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Thy tale is fad and fore;

"But, charming mayde," full loud hee cry'd, "Thy forrows now bee o'er.

M 2

"Yes, mayden, thou no more shalt rove,
"No more unhappie fraye;

"But thou, dear may de, fhalt bee my love,
"6 My countefs riche and gaye."
The hapless mayden wond'ring hearde
The baron talke of love;

Yet ftill, altho' that baron fhee fear'd,

Right faithfulle dyd fhee

prove.

"Come turne to mee, and bee my love, "And bee my ladye gaye;

"And thou no more for fcorne fhalt rove, "Soe fad, the livelong daye:

"But thou in robes of golde, my faire,

"More brighte than daye shall shyne-

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Come, leave colde woe, and leave despayre,
And to my fuite inclyne.

"Fayre maydens fhall attend on thee,

"All fam'd for beautye rare;

"Yet, ever fweete mayden, fhalt thou bee "The faireft of all the fayre.

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Brighte golde and gems from th' eafterne mine,
Thy grandeure fhall proclayme;

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"But thye brighte lockes fhall the golde outfhyne, "Thie eyes the jewels shayme.”

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"Alas!" fhee cry'd, defpife a mayde

"Deftin'd with scorne to lyve;

"What, tho' thy grandeur's thou'st display'd,
"My heart's not myne to give:
"But I must rove, both daye and nighte,

"While colde, colde blowes the winde;
Nor bleffe the lighte that chears my fighte,
"Till my owne true love I fynde.”

Then up arose the haplesse mayde,

And woulde fayne have fled away; But the wond'ring baron fofte her flay'd, And thus with joye dyd faye:

"Nowe heav'n thee bleffe, thou faithful dame,

"For thy deare conftante love!

"Myne bee the faulte, and myne the blame, "That made thee thus to rove.

"I am thy true (but crue!) love, "Altho' a baron borne;

"And 'twas thy faithe, deare mayde, to prove, "I let thee rove forlorne.

"I from yon tow're have hearde thy moane, "And it pierc'd mee to thee hearte:

"Nowe take mee, deare mayden; I am thy owne "And never more wille wee parte.

M 3

"Yon caftle, with its wyde domayne,

"Shall bee thy dow're, my love;

"And there like a princefs fhalte thou reigne,

"Nor more in miferye rove:

"But wee will live and love foe true, "And with fuche conftancye,

"That, iffterne death thee firfte shall slaye, "Deare mayde, I'll dye with thee."

The mayden blufh'd to fynd her love

A baron of hie fame;

While fonde hee cry'd,

Thy feares remove,

"Thy faithe my pryde doth shayme.

"Agayne to thee my troth I plighte,

"And let thy joyes abounde;

"And blefs the lighte that cheares thy fighte, "For thy true love is founde."

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