The Not-Browne Mayd

'Be it ryght or wrong, these men among On women do complayne; Affyrmynge this, how that it is A labour spent in vayne To love them wele; for never a dele They love a man agayne: For late a man do what he can Theyr favour to attayne, Yet yf a newe do them persue, Theyr furst true lover than Laboureth for nought; for from her thought He is a banyshed man.' 'I say nat nay, but that all day It is bothe writ and sayd, That woman's faith is as who sayth, All utterly decayd; But neverthelesse, ryght good wytnesse In this case might be layd, That they love true, and continue: Recorde the Not-Brown Mayde; Which, when her love came, her to prove, To her to make his mone, Wolde nat depart, for in her hart She loved but hym alone.' 'Than betwaine us late us dyscus, What was all the manere Betwayne them two; we wyll also Telle all the payne and fere That she was in. Nowe I begyn, So that ye me answere: Wherefore all ye that present be, I pray you gyve an eare. I am the knyght, I come by nyght As secret as I can, Sayinge, 'Alas! thus standeth the case, I am a banyshed man.'' She. And I your wyll, for to fulfyll In this wyll nat refuse, Trustyng to shewe, in wordes fewe, That men have an yll use, (To theyr own shame) women to blame, And causelesse them accuse: Therfore to you I answere nowe, All women to excuse, - 'Myn own hart dere, with you what chere? I pray you telle anone; For in my mynde, of al mankynde, I love but you alone.' He. 'It standeth so: a dede is do, Whereof grete harme shall growe. My destiny is for to dy A shamefull deth, I trowe, Or elles to fle: the one must be: None other way I knowe, But to withdrawe, as an outlawe, And take me to my bowe. Wherefore, adue, my owne hart true, None other rede I can; For I must to the grene wode go, Alone, a banyshed man.' She. 'O Lord, what is thys worldys blysse, That changeth as the mone! My somers day in lusty May Is derked before the none. I here you saye farewell: Nay, nay, We depart nat so sone. Why say ye so? wheder wyll ye go? Alas, what have ye done? All my welfare to sorrowe and care Sholde chaunge, yf ye were gone: For in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you alone.' He. 'I can beleve it shall you greve, And somewhat you dystrayne; But aftyrwarde your paynes harde, Within a day or twayne, Shall sone aslake, and ye shall take Comfort to you agayne. Why sholde ye ought? for, to make thought Your labur were in vayne: And thus I do, and pray you to, As hartely as I can: For I must to the grene wode go, Alone, a banyshed man.' She. 'Now syth that ye have shewed to me The secret of your mynde, I shall be playne to you agayne, Lyke as ye shall me fynde: Syth it is so that ye wyll go, I wolle not leve behynde; Shall never be sayd the Not-browne Mayd Was to her love unkynde. Make you redy, for so am I, Although it were anone; For in my mynd, of all mankynde, I love but you alone.' He. '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 delay. Rather than ye sholde thus for me Be called an yll woman, Yet wolde I to the grene wode go, Alone, a banyshed man.' She. 'Though it be songe of olde 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 al mankynde I love but you alone.' He. 'I counceyle you remember howe It is no maydens lawe, Nothynge 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 ye lyve, Ever in drede and awe; Whereby to you grete harme myght growe; Yet I had lever than That I had to the grene wode go Alone, a banyshed man.' She. 'I thinke nat nay; but as ye say, It is no maydens lore; But love may make me for your sake, To 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.' He. 'For an outlawe this is the lawe, That men hym take and bynde, Without pyte hanged to be, And waver with the wynde. If I had nede, (as God forbede! What rescous could ye finde? Forsoth, I trowe, ye and your bowe For fere wolde drawe behynde: And no merveyle; for lytel avayle Were in your counceyle than; Wherefore I wyll to the grene wode goe Alone, a banyshed man.' She. 'Ryght wele knowe ye that women be But feble for to fyght; No womanhede it is indede To be bolde as a knyght. Yet in suche fere yf that ye were, With enemyes day and nyght, I wolde withstande wyth bowe in hande, To greve them as I myght; And you to save, as women have, From dethe 'men' many one: For in my mynde, of al mankynde I love but you alone.' He. 'Yet take gude hede; for ever I drede That ye coude nat sustayne The 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 than That I had to the grene wode goe Alone, a banyshed man.' She. '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 pleasure, And shortely, it is this: That where ye be, me seemeth, parde, I coude nat fare amysse. Without more speche, I you beseche That we were soon agone; For in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you alone.' He. 'If ye goo thyder, ye must consyder When ye have lust to dyne, There shal no mete be for you gete, Nor drinke, bere, ale, ne wyne; Ne shetes clene to lye betwene, Made of threde and twyne; None other house but leves and bowes To cover your hed and myne. O myne harte swete, this evyll dyete Sholde make you pale and wan: Wherefore I wyll to the grene wode go, Alone, a banyshed man.' She. 'Among the wylde dere, such an archere As men say that ye be Ne may nat fayle of good vitayle, Where is so grete plente; And water clere of the ryvere Shall be full swete to me, With which in hele I shall ryght wele Endure, as ye shal see; And or we go, a bedde or two I can provyde anone; For in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you alone.' He. '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 kne; With bowe in hande, for to withstande Your enemyes, yf nede be; And this same nyght, before daylyght, To wode-warde wyll I fle; Yf ye wyll all this fulfill, Do it shortely as ye can: Els wyll I to the grene wode goe Alone, a banyshed man.' She. 'I shall as nowe do more for you Than longeth to womanhede, To shorte my here, a bow to bere, To shote in tyme of nede. O my sweet mother, before all other, For you have I most drede! But now, adue! I must ensue Where Fortune doth me lede. All this make ye; and let us fle; The day cometh fast upon; For in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you alone.' He. 'Nay, nay, nat so: ye shall nat go; And I shall tell ye why; -- Your appetyght is to be lyght Of love, I wele espie: For lyke as ye have sayed to me, In lyke wyse, hardely, Ye wolde answere, whosoever it were, In way of company. It is sayd of olde, Sone hote, sone colde, And so is a woman; Wherefore I to the wode wyll goe, Alone, a banyshed man.' She. 'Yf ye take hede, it is no nede Such wordes to say be me; For oft ye prayed, and longe assayed, Or I you loved, parde; 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 dy therfore anone; For in my mynde, of al mankynde I love but you alone.' He. 'A baron's chylde to be begyled, It were a cursed dede! To be felawe with an outlawe, Almighty God forbede! Yet beter were the pore squyere Alone to forest yede, Than ye sholde saye another day, That by my cursed dede Ye were betrayed; wherefore, good mayd, The best rede that I can Is that I to the grene wode go, Alone, a banyshed man.' She. 'Whatever befall, I never shall Of this thyng you upbrayd; But yf ye go, and leve me so, Then have ye me betrayd. Remember ye wele, howe that ye dele, For yf ye, as ye sayd, Be so unkynde to leve behynde Your love, the Not-Browne Mayd, Trust me truly, that I shall dy, Some after ye be gone; For in my mynde, of al mankynde I love but you alone.' He. 'Yf that ye went, ye sholde repent, For in the forest nowe I have purvayed me of a mayd, Whom I love more than you: Another fayrere than e'er ye were, I dare it wele avowe; And of you bothe eche sholde be worthe With other, as I trowe. It were myne ese to lyve in pese; So wyll I, yf I can; Wherefore I to the wode wyll go Alone, a banyshed man.' She. 'Though in the wode I undyrstode Ye had a paramour, All this may nought remove my thought, But that I wyll be your; And she shall fynde me soft and kynde, And courteys every hour, Glad to fulfyll all that she wylle Commaunde me, to my power; For had ye, lo, an hundred mo, 'Of them I wolde be one.' For in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you alone.' He. 'Myne own dere love, I see the prove That ye be kynde and true; Of mayde and wyfe, in all my lyfe The best that ever I knewe. Be mery and glad, be no more sad, The case is chaunged newe; For it were ruthe, that for your truthe Ye sholde have cause to rewe. Be nat dismayed: whatsoever I sayd To you, whan I began, I wyll nat to the grene wode goe; I am no banishyd man.' She. 'These tydings be more gladd to me Than to be made a quene, Yf I were sure they sholde endure; But is often sene, Whan men wyll breke promyse, they speke The wordes on the splene. Ye shape some wyle me to begyle, And stele from me, I wene; Than were the case worse than it was, And I more wo-begone; For in my mynde, of al mankynde I love but you alone.' He. 'Ye shal nat nede further to drede: I wyll nat dysparage You, (God defend!) syth ye descend Of so grete a lynage. Now undyrstande, to Westmarlande, Which is myne herytage, I wyll you brynge, and with a rynge, By way of maryage, I wyll you take, and lady make, As shortely as I can: Thus have you won an erlys son, And not a banyshed man.' Author. Here may ye se, that women be In love meke, kynde, and stable: Late never man reprove them than, Or call them variable; But rather pray God that we may To them be comfortable, Which sometyme proveth such as he loveth, Yf they be charytable. For syth men wolde that women sholde Be meke to them each one, Moche more ought they to God obey, And serve but hym alone.