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YES, every poet is a fool,
By demonstration Ned can show it.
Happy, could Ned's inverted rule
THY nags, the leaneft things alive!
I heard thy anxious coach-man say,
To a Person who wrote Ill, and spoke Worfe against Me.
YE, Philo, untouch'd, on my peaceable shelf;
Nor take it amifs, that fo little I heed thee :
I've no envy to thee, and fome love to myself:
Then why fhould I anfwer; fince first I must read thee?
Drunk with Helicon's waters and double-brew'd bub,
To the folid delight of thy well-judging club,
Purfue me with fatire: what harm is there in 't?
On the fame Perfon.
WHILE, fafter than his coftive brain indites,
Philo's quick hand in flowing letters writes :
His cafe appears to me like honest Teague's,.
May spoil what you to-night propose:
England may change; or Cloe ftray:
Love and life are for to-day.
A BALLAD of the NOTBROWNE MAYDE.
BE it ryght, or wrong, these men among on women.
Affyrmynge this, how that it is a labour spent in vayne,
- First printed about 1521, fays Capel
To love them wele; for never a dele thy love a maa
For late a man do what he can, theyr favour to attayne, Yet, yf a newe do them pursue, theyr fyrst true lover
Laboureth for nought; for from her thought he is a banyshed man.
I say nat, nay, but that all day it is bothe writ and fayd, That womens fayth is, as who fayth, all utterly decayed:
But, nevertheleffe, ryght good wytnèffe in this cafe. might be layed,
That they love true, and continue; 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 he loved but hym alone.
Than betwayne us late us dyfcus what was all the manère
Betwayne them two; we wyll alfo tell all the payne, and fere,
That she was in: nowe I begyn, fo that ye me an
Wherfore, all ye, that prefent be, I pray you gyve an
I am the knyght; I come by nyght, as fecret as I can, Sayinge, Alas, thus ftandeth the cafe, I am a banyshed
And I your wyll for to fulfyll in this wyll nat refuse; Truftynge to fhewe in wordes fewe, that men have an yll use
(To theyr own fhame) women to blame, and caufeleffe them accufe:
Therfore to you I anfwere nowe, all women to ex
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.
It ftandeth fo; a dede is do, whereof grete harme shall
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
Wherfore, adue, my owne hart true! none other rede
For I must to the grene wode go, alone, a banyfhed
O Lorde, what is this worldys blyffe, that chaungeth as the mone!
The fomers day in lufty May is derked before the
I here you fay, farewell; Nay, nay, we départ not fo
Why fay ye fo? wheder wyll ye go? alas, what have ye done?
welfare to forowe and care fholde chaunge, yf ye were gone;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but yɔu alone.
I can beleve, it fhall you greve, and fomwhat you dystrayne:
But, aftyrwarde, your paynes harde within a day or
Shall fone aflake; and ye shall take comfort to you
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 muft to the grene wode go, alone, a banyshed
Now, fyth that ye have shewed to me the fecret of your
I fhall be playne to you agayne, lyke as ye fhall me fynde :
Syth it is fo that ye wyll go, I wolle not leve be
Shall it never be fayd, the notbrowne mayd was to her
love unkynde :