Manuscript Rawlinson, C. 818, fol. 27 b,
beginning of the sixteenth century. Halliwell's Nugae Poetieæ, p.
42.
| 1 |
Throughe a forest as I can ryde,
To take my sporte yn an mornyng,
I cast my eye on euery syde,
I was ware of a bryde syngynge. |
| 2 |
I sawe a faire mayde come rydyng;
I speake to hur of loue, I trowe;
She answered me all yn scornyng,
And sayd, The crowe shall byte yow. |
| 3 |
'I pray yow, damesell, scorne me nott;
To wyn your loue ytt ys my wyll;
For your loue I haue dere bought,
And I wyll take good hede thertyll.' |
| 4 |
'Nay, for God, ser, that I nyll;
I tell the, Jenken, as I trowe,
Thou shalt nott fynde me suche a gyll;
Therfore the crowe shall byte yow.' |
| 5 |
He toke then owt a good golde ryng,
A purse of velweytt, that was soo fyne:
'Haue ye thys, my dere swetyng,
With that ye wylbe lemman myn.' |
| 6 |
'Be Cryst, I dare nott, for my dame,
To dele with hym that I doo nott knowe;
For soo I myght dyspyse my name;
Therfore the crow shall byte yow.' |
| 7 |
He toke hur abowte the mydell small,
That was soo faire of hyde and hewe;
He kyssed hur cheke as whyte as whall,
And prayed hur that she wolde vpon hym rewe. |
| 8 |
She scornyd hym, and callyd hym Hew;
His loue was as a paynted blowe:
'To-day me, to-morrowe a newe;
Therfore the crow shall byte yow.' |
| 9 |
He toke hur abowte the mydell small,
And layd hur downe vpon the grene;
Twys or thrys he served hur soo withall,
He wolde nott stynt yet, as I wene. |
| 10 |
'But sythe ye haue i-lyen me bye,
Ye wyll wedde me now, as I trowe:'
'I wyll be aduysed, Gyll,' sayd he,
'For now the pye hathe peckyd yow.' |
| 11 |
'But sythe ye haue i-leyn me by,
And brought my body vnto shame,
Some of your good ye wyll part with me,
Or elles, be Cryst, ye be to blame.' |
| 12 |
'I wylbe aduysed,' he sayde;
'THe wynde ys wast that thow doyst blowe;
I haue a-noder that most be payde;
Therfore the pye hathe pecked yow.' |
| 13 |
'Now sythe ye haue i-leyn me bye,
A lyttle thyng ye wyll tell;
In case that I with chylde be,
What ys your name? Wher doo ye dwell?' |
| 14 |
'At Yorke, at London, at Clerkenwell,
At Leycester, Cambryge, at myrye Brystowe;
Some call me Rychard, Robart, Jacke, and Wyll;
For now the pye hathe peckyd yow. |
| 15 |
'But, all medons, be ware be rewe,
And lett no man downe yow throwe;
For and yow doo, ye wyll ytt rewe,
For then the pye wyll pecke yow.' |
| 16 |
'Farewell, corteor, ouer the medoo,
Pluke vp your helys, I yow beshrew!
Your trace, wher so euer ye ryde or goo,
Crystes curse goo wythe yow! |
| 17 |
'Thoughe a knave hathe by me layne,
Yet am I noder dede nor slowe;
I trust to recouer my harte agayne,
And Crystes curse goo wythe yow!' |
