The book of British ballads . 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
The book of British ballads . 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 wyll all this fulfill,Do it shortely as ye can :Els wyll I to the grene wode go,Alone, a banyshed 3 I shall as nowe do more for you Than longeth to womanhede ;To short my here, a bowe to here, To shote in tyme of my sweet mother, before all other For you I have most drede :But nowe, adue ! I must ensue, Wher fortune doth me this make ye : now let us fie ; The day cometh fast upon ;For, in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you alone. Nay, nay, not so ; ye shall not go, And I shall tell ye why,—Your appetyght is to be lyght Of love, I wele espy :For, lyke as ye have sayed to me, In lyke wyse hardelyYe wolde answere whosoever it were, In way of is sayd of olde, Sone hote, sone colde ; And so is a I to the wode wyll go, Alone, a banyshed man. Yf ye take hede, yett is no nede Such wordes to say by me ;For oft ye prayed, and longe assayed, Or I you loved, perde :And though that I of auncestry A barons daughter be,Yet have you proved howe I you loved, A squyer of lowe degre ;And ever shall, whatso*befall; To ye
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