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This begane in Chyviat the hyls abone, The first mane that ever him an answear

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"Now syth that ye have shewed to me the secret of your mynde,

I shalbe playne to you agayne, lyke as ye shal me fynde;

To ther owne shame wymen to blame, and Syth it is so that ye wyll goo, I wol not

causeles them accuse.

Therfore to you I answere now, alle wymen

to excuse :

'Myn owne hert dere, with you what

chiere? I prey you telle anoon; For in my mynde of all mankynde I love but you allon.""

"It stondeth so, a dede is do wherefore moche harme shal growe.

My desteny is for to dey a shamful dethe, I trowe,

Or ellis to flee; the ton must bee, none

other wey I knowe

But to withdrawe as an outlaw and take me to my bowe.

Wherfore adew, my owne hert trewe, none other red I can;

For I muste to the grene wode goo, alone, a bannysshed man."

"O Lorde, what is this worldis blisse, that chaungeth as the mone?

My somers day in lusty May is derked before the none.

I here you saye 'farwel;' nay, nay, we departe not soo sone. Why say ye so? wheder wyl ye goo? alas! what have ye done? Alle my welfare to sorow and care shulde

chaunge if ye were gon; For in my mynde of all mankynde I love but you alone."

"I can beleve it shal you greve, and somwhat you distrayne;

But aftyrwarde your paynes harde within a day or tweyne

Shal sone aslake, and ye shal take confort to you agayne.

leve behynde;

Shal ne'er be sayd the Nutbrowne Mayd was to her love unkind.

Make you redy, for soo am I, all though it were anoon;

For in my mynde of all mankynde I love but you alone."

"Yet I you rede to take good hede, what men wyl thinke and sey;

Of yonge and olde it shalbe tolde that ye be gone away,

Your wanton wylle for to fulfylle, in grene wood you to play,

And that ye myght from your delyte noo lenger make delay.

Rather than ye shuld thus for me be called an ylle woman,

Yet wolde I to the grenewodde goo, alone, a bannysshed man."

"Though it be songe of olde and yonge that I shuld be to blame,

Theirs be the charge that speke so large in hurting of my name;

For I wyl prove that feythful love it is devoyd of shame,

In your distresse and hevynesse to parte wyth you the same;

And sure all thoo that doo not so, trewe lovers ar they noon;

But in my mynde of all mankynde I love but you alone."

"I councel yow, remembre how it is noo maydens lawe

Nothing to dought, but to renne out to wod with an outlawe;

For ye must there in your hands bere a bowe redy to drawe,

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