That by my cursed dede

Ye were betrayed: wherfore, good mayd,

The beft rede that I can,

Is that I to the grene wode go,

Alone, a banyshed man.

275

B.

Whatever befall, I never fhall
Of this thyng you outbrayd:
But yf ye go, and leve me so,

Than have ye me betrayed.
Remember you wele howe that ye

280

dele;

Were fo' unkynde, to leve behynde

For, yf ye, as ye fayd,

Your love, the not-browne mayd,

Trust me truly, that I fhall dy

Sone after ye be gone:

For, in my mynde, of all mankynde

I love but you alone.

Yf that

A.

ye went ye fholde repent;

For in the forest nowe

285

290

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

Another fayrère than ever ye were,

I dare it wele avowe;

And of you bothe eche fholde be wrothe

295

With other, as I trowe:

It were myne efe, to lyve in pefe;

310

Yet wolde I be that one:

For, in my mynde, of all mankynde

I love but you alone.

A.

Myne owne dere love, I fe the prove

That ye be kynde, and true;

Of mayde, and wyfe, of all my lyfe,
The beft that ever I knewe.

315

Be

mery and glad, be no more fad, The cafe is chaunged newe;

For it were ruthe, that, for your

Ye fholde have caufe to rewe:

truthe,

320

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

Ye fhall nat nede further to drede ;

I wyll nat dysparàge

You, (God defend !) fyth ye defcend

Of fo grete lynyàge.

Nowe undyrftande, to Westmarlande,

Which is myne herytàge,

335

340

I wyll you brynge; and with a rynge,

By way of maryàge,

I wyll you take; and lady make,

As shortely as I can :

Than have you won an erlys fon,

And not a' banyshed man.

B.

Here may ye fe, that women be,

345

In love, meke, kynde, and stable :

Late never man reprove them than

[Or call them variable];

But, rather, pray God, that we may

To them be comfortable;

350

Which fometyme proveth' fuch as he loveth,' 355

Yf they be charytable.

For, fyth' men wolde that women sholde

Be meke to them ech one,

Moche more ought they to God obey,

And ferve but hym alone.

360

PHYLIDA was a faire mayde,

As fresh as any flowre;
Whom Harpalus the herdman prayde
To be his paramour.

Harpalus, and eke Corin,

Were herdmen both yfere:

And Phylida could twift and spinne,
And thereto fing full clere.

But Phyllida was all to coy

For Harpalus to winne ;

For Corin was her onely joy,

Who forft her not a pinne.

How often would the flowers twine!

How often garlandes make,

Of couflips, and of colombine!

And al for Corins fake.

But Corin he had haukes to lure,

And forced more the field:

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