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0 my fwete mother, before all other for you I have

moft drede :

But nowe,


adue! I must enfue where fortune doth me

All this make ye: nowe let us fle; the day cometh fast


For, in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you alone.


Nay, nay, nat fo; ye fhal nat go, and I fhall tell you why,

Your appetyght is to be lyght of love, I wele espy: For, lyke as ye have fayed to me, in lyke wyfe hardely Ye wolde anfwère, whofoever it were, in way of com


It is fayd of olde,


fone hote, fone colde; and fo is a

For I muft to the grene wode go, alone, a banyshed


f ye



take hede, it is no nede fuch wordes to fay by me; For oft ye prayed, and longe afsayed, or I you loved,


And though that I of auncestry a barons daughter be, Yet have you proved howe I you loved, a fquyer of lowe degre;

And ever fhall, whatso befall; to dy therefore anone; For, in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you


A. A


A barons chylde to be begylde! it were a curfed dede? To be felàwe with an outlàwe! Almighty God forbede!

Yea, beter were, the pore fquyère alone to forest yede,

Than ye fholde fay another day, that by that curfed


Ye were betrayed: wherfore, good mayd, the best rede

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Is, that I to the grene wode go, alone, a banyshed man.


Whatever befall, I never fhall of this thyng you up


But yf ye go, and leve me fo, than have ye me betrayed. Remember you wele howe that ye dele; for, yf ye be as ye fayd,

Ye were unkynde, to leve behynde, your love, the notbrowne mayd.

Truft me truly', that I fhall dy fone after

ye be gone; For, in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you alone.


Yf that ye went, ye fholde repent; for in the foreft


I have purvayed me of a mayd, whom I love more than you;

Another fayrère than ever ye were, 1 dare it wele


And of you bothe eche fholde be wrothe with other, as

I trowe:

It were myne efe, to lyve in pese; fo wyll I, yf I can; Wherfore I to the wode wyll go, alone, a banyfhed



Though in the wode I undyrftode ye had a paramour, All this may nought remove my thought, but that I will be your:

And the fhall fynde me foft, and kynde, and courteys every hour;

Glad to fulfyll all that the wyll commaunde me, to my


For had ye, lo, an hundred mo, yet wolde I be that


For, in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you alone.


Myne own dere love, I fe the prove that ye be kynde, and true;

Of mayde, and wyfe, in all my lyfe, the beft that ever I knewe.

Be mery and glad, be no more fad, the cafe is chaunged


For it were ruthe, that, for your truthe, ye fholde have cause to rewe:

Be nat difmayed; whatsoever I fayd to you, whan I began,

I wyll not to the grene wode go, I am no banyfhed


B. Thefe


Thefe tydings be more gladder to me than to be made a


Yf I were fure they fholde endure: but it is often sene, Whan men wyll breke promyfe, they speke the wordes on the fplene :

Ye fhape fome wyle, me to begyle, and stele from me, I wene :

Than were the cafe worse than it was, and I more wo


For, in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you alone..


Ye fhall nat nede further to drede; I will not dyfparage You, (God defende!) fyth you defcend of fo grete: a. lynage.

Nowe understande, -to Westmarlande, which is myne herytage,

I wyll you bringe; and with a rynge, by way of ma


I wyll you take, and lady make, as fhortely as I can : Thus have ye won an erlys fon, and not a banyshed



Here may ye fe, that women be, in love, meke, kynde, and ftable:

Late never man reprove them than,

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But, rather, pray God, that we may to them be com fortable,

Which fometyme proved fuch as he loved, yf they be charytable.


Forfoth, men wolde that women fholde be meke to

them ech one ;

Moche more ought they to God obey, and serve but hym alone.

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Upon the Model of the NUT-BROWN MAID.

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THOU, to whofe eyes I bend, at whofe command (Though low my voice, though artless be my hand)

I take the fprightly reed, and fing, and play;
Careless of what the cenfuring world may fay :
Bright Cloe, object of my constant vow,
Wilt thou a while unbend thy ferious brow?
Wilt thou with pleasure hear thy lover's strains,
And with one heavenly fimile o'erpay his pains?
No longer fhall the Nut-brown Maid be old ;-
Though fince her youth three hundred years have roll'd::
At thy defire, fhe shall again be rais'd;

And her reviving charms in lafting verfe be prais'd..

No longer man of woman shall complain,

That he may love, and not be lov'd again :
That we in vain the fickle fex pursue,
Who change the constant lover for the new.


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