The book of British ballads . be playne to you agayne, Lyke as ye shall me it is so, that ye wyll go,I wolle not leve behynde ;Shall never be sayd, the Nut-brown Mayd Was to her love unkynde:Make you redy, for so am I,Allthough it were anone ;For, in my mynde, of all mankyndeI love but you alone. Yet I you rede to take good hede What men wyll thynke, and say :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 delyght No lenger make than ye sholde thus for me Be called an yll wom
The book of British ballads . be playne to you agayne, Lyke as ye shall me it is so, that ye wyll go,I wolle not leve behynde ;Shall never be sayd, the Nut-brown Mayd Was to her love unkynde:Make you redy, for so am I,Allthough it were anone ;For, in my mynde, of all mankyndeI love but you alone. Yet I you rede to take good hede What men wyll thynke, and say :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 delyght No lenger make than ye sholde thus for me Be called an yll woman,Yet wolde I to the grene wode goAlone, a banyshed man. Though it be songe of old and yonge, That I sholde be to blame,Theyrs be the charge, that speke so large In hurtynge of my name :For I wyll prove, that faythfulle love It is devoyd of shame ;In your dystresse, and hevynesse, To part with you the same :And sure all tho, that do not so, True lovers are they none ;For, in my mynde, of all mankynde,I love but you alone. 42. I councelye you, remember howe, It is no maydens lawe,Notbynge to dout, but to renne out, To wode with an outlawe :For ye must there in your hand bere A bowe, redy to drawe ;And, as a thefe, thus must you lyve, Ever in drede and awe;Wherby to you grete harme myght growe : Yet had I lever than,That I had to the grene wode go, Alone, a banyshed man. I thinke not nay, but as ye say, It is no maydens lore :But love may make me for your sake, As ye have sayd beforeTo come on fote, to hunt, and shote To gete us mete in store;For so that I your company May have, I aske no more :From which to part, it maketh my hart As colde as ony stone :For, in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you alone. For an outlawe this is the lawe, That men hym take and bynde ;Without pytee, hanged to be, And waver with the I had nede, (as God forbede !) What rescous coude ye fynde ?Forsoth, I trowe, ye and your bowe For fere wolde drawe behynde :And no mervayle ; for lytell a
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