ANCIENT POEMS. BE E it ryght, or wrong, thefe men among A labour spent in vayne, To love them wele; for never a dele They 'love a man agayne: Theyr favour to attayne, Laboureth for nought; for from her thought I fay nat nay, but that all day It is bothe writ and fayd That womans faith is, as who fayth, But, nevertheleffe, ryght good wytnèffe That they love true, and continue: Recorde the dot-browne payde: 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. *My friend Mr. Farmer proposes to read the firft lines thus as a La* tinifm: Be it right or wrong, 'tis men among, On women to complayne. Ver. 2. Woman, Prolafons, and Mr. Weft's copy. Ver. 11. her, ise. their. M ANCIENT POEMS. HE. It ftandeth fo; a dede is do Wherof grete harme fhall growe: My destiny is for to dy A fhamefull 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 banyfhed man. 31 50 이 55 бо 65. 70 HE. Ver, 63. The fomers. Prol. HE. I can beleve, it shall you greve, Within a day or twayne Shall fone aflake; and ye shall take Comfort to you agayne. Why fholde 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 banyfhed man. SHE. Now, fyth that ye have fhewed to me The fecret of your mynde, I fhall be playne to you agayne, Syth it is fo, that ye wyll go, I wolle not leve behynde ; Shall never be fayd, the not-browne mayd Was to her love unkynde: Make you redy, for fo am I, 80 85 90 Allthough it were anone; For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 95 I love but you alone. HE Ver. 91. Shall it never. Prol. and Mr. W、 Mr. W. Ver. 94. Althought. ANCIENT POEMS. HE. Yet I you rede to take good hede What men wyll thynke, and fay: Of yonge, and olde it shall be tolde, That ye be gone away Your wanton wyll for to fulfill, In grene wode you to play; And that ye myght from your delight Rather than ye fholde thus for me Be called an yll woman, Yet wolde I to the grene wode go, Alone, a banyfhed man. SHE. Though it be fonge of old and yonge, That I fholde be to blame, Theyrs be the charge, that fpeke fo large In hurtynge of my name: For I wyll prove, that faythfulle love It is devoyd of fhame; In your dyftreffe, and hevyneffe, Το part with you, the fame ; And fure all tho, that do not so, True lovers are they none: For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 33 100 105 110 115 |