The book of British ballads . To be bolde as a knyght:Yet, in such fere yf that ye wereWith enemyes day and nyght,I wolde withstande, with bowe in hande, To greve them as I myght,And you to save ; as women have From deth saved many one :For, in my mynde, of all mankyndeI love but you alone. Yet take good hede ; for ever I drede That ye coude not sustayneThe thornie wayes, the depe valeies,The snowe, the frost, the rayne,The colde, the hete : for, dry or wete, We must lodge on the playne ;And, us above, none other rofe But a brake bush, or twayne ;Which sone sholde greve you, I beleve ; And ye
The book of British ballads . To be bolde as a knyght:Yet, in such fere yf that ye wereWith enemyes day and nyght,I wolde withstande, with bowe in hande, To greve them as I myght,And you to save ; as women have From deth saved many one :For, in my mynde, of all mankyndeI love but you alone. Yet take good hede ; for ever I drede That ye coude not sustayneThe thornie wayes, the depe valeies,The snowe, the frost, the rayne,The colde, the hete : for, dry or wete, We must lodge on the playne ;And, us above, none other rofe But a brake bush, or twayne ;Which sone sholde greve you, I beleve ; And ye wolde gladly thanThat I had to the grene wode go,Alone, a banyshed man. Syth I have here bene partynere With you of joy and blysse,I must also parte of your wo Endure, as reson is :Yet am I sure of one plesure ; And, shortely, it is this :That, where ye be, me semeth, perdS, I coude not fare more speche, I you beseche That we were sone agone ;For, in my mynde, of all mankyndeI love but you alone. Vizetelly If ye go thyder, ye must consyder, Whan ye have lust to dyne,There shall no mete be for to gete,Nor drinke, bere, ale, ne shetes clene, to lye betwene,Made of threde and twyne ;None other house, but leves and bowes, To cover your hed and myne harte swete, this evyll dyeteSholde make you pale and wan ;Wherfore I to the wode will go,Alone, a banyshed man. Amonge the wylde dere, such an archeres, As men say that ye be,Ne may not fayle of good vitayle, Where is so grete plente :And water clere of the ryvereShall be full swete to me ;With which in hele I shall ryght wele Endure, as ye shall see ;And, er we go, a bedde or two I can provyde anone ;For, in my mynde, of all mankyndeI love but you alone. Lo yet, before, ye must do more, Yf ye wyll go with me :As cut your here up by your ere; Your kyrtel by the knee ;With bowe in hande, for to withstande Your enemyes yf nede be :And this same nyght before day-lyght, To wode-warde wyll I that ye
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