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15th Cent.
IN somer when the shawes be sheyne,1
And leves be large and long,
Hit is full merry in feyre foreste
To here the foulys song.
To se the dere draw to the dale
And leve the hilles hee,
And shadow him in the leves grene
Under the green-wode tree.
Hit befell on Whitsontide
Early in a May mornyng,
The Sonne up faire can shyne,
And the briddis mery can syng.
‘This is a mery mornyng,’ said Litulle Johne,
‘Be Hym that dyed on tre;
A more mery man than I am one
Lyves not in Christiantàe.
‘Pluk up thi hert, my dere mayster,’
Litulle Johne can say,
‘And thynk hit is a fulle fayre tyme
In a mornynge of May.’
15th Cent.
I SING of a maiden
That is makeles;1
King of all kings
To her son she ches.2
He came al so still
There his mother was,
As dew in April
That falleth on the grass.
He came al so still
To his mother’s bour,
As dew in April
That falleth on the flour.
He came al so still
There his mother lay,
As dew in April
That falleth on the spray.
Mother and maiden
Was never none but she;
Well may such a lady
Goddes mother be.
Primus Pastor
Haylle, comly and clene! Haylle, yong child!
Haylle, maker, as I meyne, of a madn so mylde!
Thou has waryd,1 I weyne the warlo2 so wylde;
The fals gyler of teyn, now goys he begylde.
Lo, he merys;
Lo, he laghys, my swetyng,
A wel fare metyng ,
I have holden my hetyng;3
Have a bob of cherys.
Secundus Pastor
Haylle, sufferan savyoure! for thou has us soght;
Haylle, frely foyde4 and floure that all thyng has wroght!
Haylle, full of favoure that made all of noght!
Haylle! I kneyll and I cowre. A byrd haue I broght
To my barne.
Haylle, lytylle tyné mop!5
Of oure crede thou art crop;
I wold drynk on thy cop,
Lytyll day starne.
Tertius Pastor
Haylle, derlyng dere, full of godhede!
I pray the be nere when that I have nede.
Haylle! swete is thy chere! my hert wold blede
To se the sytt here in so poore wede,
With no pennys.
Haylle! put furth thy dalle!6
I bryng the bot a balle:
Have and play the with-alle,
And go to the tenys.
Early 16th Cent.
LULLY, lulley; lully, lulley;
The fawcon hath born my mak away.
He bare hym vp, he bare hym down;
He bare hym into an orchard brown.
In that orchard ther was an hall,
That was hangid with purpill and pall.
And in that hall ther was a bede;
Hit was hangid with gold so rede.
And yn that bed ther lythe a knyght,
His wowndes bledyng day and nyght.
By that bedes side ther kneleth a may,
And she wepeth both nyght and day.
And by that beddes side ther stondith a ston,
‘Corpus Christi’ wretyn theron.
14th Cent.
IN a valley of this restles mind
I sought in mountain and in mead,
Trusting a true love for to find.
Upon an hill then took I heed;
A voice I heard (and near I yede1)
In great dolour complaining tho:
See, dear soul, how my sides bleed
Quia amore langueo.
Upon this hill I found a tree,
Under a tree a man sitting;
From head to foot wounded was he;
His hearte blood I saw bleeding:
A seemly man to be a king,
A gracious face to look unto.
I askàed why he had paining;
Quia amore langueo.
I am true love that false was never;
My sister, man’s soul, I loved her thus.
Because we would in no wise dissever
I left my kingdom glorious.
I purveyed her a palace full precious;
She fled, I followed, I loved her so
That I suffered this pain piteous
Quia amore langueo.
My fair love and my spouse bright!
I saved her from beating, and she hath me bet;
I clothed her in grace and heavenly light;
This bloody shirt she hath on me set;
For longing of love yet would I not let;
Sweet strokes are these: lo!
I have loved her ever as I her het2
Quia amore langueo.
I crowned her with bliss and she me with thorn;
I led her to chamber and she me to die;
I brought her to worship and she me to scorn;
I did her reverence and she me villany.
To love that loveth is no maistry;
Her hate made never my love her foe
Ask me then no question why—
Quia amore langueo.
Look unto mine handes, man!
These gloves were given me when I her sought;
They be not white, but red and wan;
Embroidered with blood my spouse them brought.
They will not off; I loose hem nought:
I woo her with hem wherever she go.
These hands for her so friendly fought
Quia amore langueo.
Marvel not, man, though I sit still.
See, love hath shod me wonder strait:
Buckled my feet, as was her will,
With sharp nails (well thou may’st wait!)
In my love was never desait;
All my membres I have opened her to;
My body I made her herte’s bait3
Quia amore langueo.
In my side I have made her nest;
Look in, how wet a wound is here!
This is her chamber, here shall she rest,
That she and I may sleep in fere.4
Here may she wash, if any filth were;
Here is seat for all her woe;
Come when she will, she shall have cheer
Quia amore langueo.
I will abide till she be ready,
I will her sue if she say nay;
If she be retchless I will be greedy,
If she be dangerous5 I will her pray;
If she weep, then bide I ne may:
Mine arms ben spread to clip her me to.
Cry once, I come: now, soul, assay!
Quia amore langueo.
Fair love, let us go play:
Apples ben ripe in my gardayne.
I shall thee clothe in a new array,
Thy meat shall be milk, honey and wine.
Fair love, let us go dine:
Thy sustenance is in my crippe,6 lo!
Tarry thou not, my fair spouse mine,
Quia amore langueo.
If thou be foul, I shall thee make clean;
If thou be sick, I shall thee heal;
If thou mourn ought, I shall thee mene;7
Why wilt thou not, fair love, with me deal?
Foundest thou ever love so leal?
What wilt thou, soul, that I shall do?
I may not unkindly thee appeal,
Quia amore langueo.
What shall I do now with my spouse
But abide her of my gentleness,
Till that she look out of her house
Of fleshly affection? love mine she is;
Her bed is made, her bolster is bliss,
Her chamber is chosen; is there none mo.
Look out on me at the window of kindeness,
Quia amore langueo.
My love is in her chamber: hold your peace!
Make ye no noise, but let her sleep.
My babe I would not were in disease,
I may not hear my dear child weep.
With my pap I shall her keep;
Ne marvel ye not though I tend her to:
This wound in my side had ne’er been so deep
But Quia amore langueo.
Long thou for love never so high,
My love is more than thine may be.
Thou weepest, thou gladdest, I sit thee by:
Yet wouldst thou once, love, look unto me!
Should I always feede thee
With children meat? Nay, love, not so!
I will prove thy love with adversitàe,
Quia amore langueo.
Wax not weary, mine own wife!
What mede is aye to live in comfort?
In tribulation I reign more rife
Ofter times than in disport.
In weal and in woe I am aye to support:
Mine own wife, go not me fro!
Thy mede is marked, when thou art mort:
Quia amore langueo.
[? Wm. Cornish]
(i)
16th Century
YOU and I and Amyas,
Amyas and you and I,
To the green-wood must we go, alas!
You and I, my lyf, and Amyas
(ii)
15th-16th Cent.
The maidens came
When I was in my mother’s bower;
I had all that I would.
The bailey beareth the bell away
The lily, the rose, the rose I lay.
The silver is white, red is the gold;
The robes they lay in fold.
The bailey beareth the lull away;
The lily, the rose, the rose I lay.
And thro the glass window shines the sun.
How should I love, and I so young?
The bailey beareth the lull away;
The lily, the rose, the rose I lay.
16th Cent.(?)
WESTERN wind, when will thou blow
The small rain down can rain?
Christ, if my love were in my arms
And I in my bed again!
15th Cent.
He. BE it right or wrong, these men among1
On
women do complain;
Affirming this, how that it is
A labour spent in vain
To love them wele; for never a dele2
They love a man again:
For let a man do what he can
Their favour to attain,
Yet if a new to them pursue,
Their first true lover than3
Laboureth for naught; for from her thought
He is a banished man.
She. I say not nay, but that all day
It is both written and said
That woman’s faith is, as who saith,
All utterly decayed:
But nevertheless, right good witnàess
In this case might be laid
That they love true and continue:
Record the Nut-brown Maid,
Which, when her love came her to prove,
To her to make his moan,
Would not depart; for in her heart
She loved but him alone.
He. Then between us let us discuss
What was all the manere
Between them two: we will also
Tell all the pain in fere4
That she was in. Now I began,
So that ye me answere:
Wherefore all ye that present be,
I pray you, give an ear.
I am the Knight. I come by night,
As
secret as I can,
Saying, Alas! thus standeth the case,
I am a banished man.
She. And I your will for to fulfil
In this will not refuse
Trusting to show, in wordes few,
That men have an ill use—
To their own shame—women to blame,
And causeless them accuse.
Therefore to you I answer now,
All women to excuse—
Mine own heart dear, with you what cheer?
I pray you, tell anone;
For, in my mind, of all mankind
I love but you alone.
He. It standeth so: a deed is do
Whereof great harm shall grow:
My destiny is for to die
A shameful death, I trow;
Or else to flee. The t’ one must be:
None other way I know
But to withdraw as an outlàaw,
And take me to my bow.
Wherefore adieu, mine own heart true!
None other rede I can:5
For I must to the green-wood go,
Alone, a banished man.
She. O Lord, what is this worldis bliss,
That changeth as the moon!
My summer’s day in lusty May
Is darked before the noon.
I hear you say, farewell: Nay, nay,
We dàepart not so soon.
Why say ye so? whither will ye go?
Alas!
what have ye done?
All my welfàare to sorrow and care
Should change, if ye were gone:
For, in my mind, of all mankind
I love but you alone.
He. I can believe it shall you grieve,
And somewhat you distrain;
But afterward, your paines hard
Within a day or twain
Shall soon aslake; and ye shall take
Comfort to you again.
Why should ye nought? for, to take thought,
Your labour were in vain.
And thus I do; and pray you to,
As hartely as I can:
For I must to the green-wood go,
Alone, a banished man.
She. Now, sith that ye have showed to me
The secret of your mind,
I shall be plain to you again,
Like as ye shall me find.
Sith it is so that ye will go,
I will not leve behind.
Shall never be said the Nut-brown Maid
Was to her love unkind.
Make you 
so am I,
Although it were anone:
For, in my mind, of all mankind
I love but you alone.
He. Yet I you rede to take good heed
What
men will think and say:
Of young,
of old, it shall be told
That
ye be gone away
Your
wanton will for to fulfil,
In
green-wood you to play;
And that ye
might for your delight
No
longer make delay
Rather
than ye should thus for me
Be
called an ill womàan
Yet
would I to the green-wood go,
Alone,
a banished man.
She. Though it be sung of old and young
That I should be to blame,
Theirs be the charge that speak so large
In hurting of my name:
For I will prove that faithful love
It is devoid of shame;
In your distress and heaviness
To part with6 you the same:
And sure all tho7 that do not so
True lovers are they none:
For, in my mind, of all mankind
I love but you alone.
He. I counsel you, Remember how
It is no maiden’s law
Nothing to doubt, but to run out
To wood with an outlàaw.
For ye must there in your hand bear
A bow to draw;
And as a thief thus must you live
Ever in dread and awe;
Whereby to you great harm might grow:
Yet had I liever than
That I had to the green-wood go,
Alone, a banished man.
She. I think not nay, but as ye say;
It is no maiden’s lore;
But love may make me for your sake,
As I have said before,
To come on
foot, to hunt and shoot.
To get us meat and store;
For so that I your company
May have, I ask no more.
From which to part it maketh my heart
As cold as any stone;
For, in my mind, of all mankind
I love but you alone.
He. For an outlàw this is the law,
That men him take and bind:
Without pitie, hangàed to be,
And waver with the wind.
If I had need (as God forbede!)
What socours could ye find?
Forsooth I trow, you and your bow
For fear would draw behind.
And no mervail; for little avail
Were in your counsel than:
Wherefore I’ll to the green-wood go,
Alone, a banished man.
She. Right well know ye that women be
But feeble for to fight;
No womanhede it is, indeed,
To be bold as a knight:
Yet in such fear if that ye were
With enemies day and night,
I would withstand, with bow in hand,
To grieve them as I might,
And you to save; as women have
From death men many one:
For, in my mind, of all mankind
I love but you alone.
He. Yet take good hede; for ever I drede
That ye could not sustain
The thorny ways, the deep vallàeys,
The
snow, the frost, the rain,
The cold, the heat; for dry or wete,
We must lodge on the plain;
And, us above, no other roof
But a brake bush or twain:
Which soon should grieve you, I believe:
And ye would gladly than
That I had to the green-wood go,
Alone, a banished man.
She. Sith I have here been partynere
With you of joy and bliss,
I must alsào part of your woe
Endure, as reason is:
Yet I am sure of one pleasàure,
And shortly it is this—
That where ye be, me seemeth, pardé,
I could not fare amiss.
Without more speech I you beseech
That we were shortly gone;
For, in my mind, of all mankind
I love but you alone.
He. If ye go thyder, ye must consider,
When ye have lust to dine,
There shall no meat be for to gete,
Nether bere, ale, ne wine,
Ne shetàes clean, to lie between,
Made of thread and twine;
None other house, but leaves and boughs,
To cover your head and mine.
Lo, mine heart sweet, this ill diàete
Should make you pale and wan:
Wherefore I’ll to the green-wood go,
Alone, a banished man.
She. Among the wild deer such an archàere,
As
men say that ye be,
Ne may
not fail of good vitayle
Where
is so great plentàe:
And
water clear of the rivere
Shall
be full sweet to me;
With
which in hele8
I shall right wele
Endure,
as ye shall see;
And,
or we go, a bed or two
I
can provide anone;
For,
in my mind, of all mankind
I
love but you alone.
He. Lo yet, before, ye must do more,
If ye will go with me:
As, cut your hair up by your ear,
Your kirtle by the knee;
With bow in hand for to withstand
Your enemies, if need be:
And this same night, before daylight,
To woodward will I flee.
If that ye will all this fulfil,
Do it shortly as ye can:
Else will I to the green-wood go,
Alone, a banished man.
She. I shall as now do more for you
Than ’longeth to womanhede;
To short my hair, a bow to bear,
To shoot in time of need.
O my sweet mother! before all other
For you I have most drede!
But now, adieu! I must ensue
Where fortune doth me lead.
All this make ye: Now let us flee;
The day cometh fast upon:
For, in my mind, of all mankind
I love but you alone.
He. Nay, nay, not so; ye shall not go,
And
I shall tell you why—
Your appetite is to be light
Of love, I well espy:
For, right as ye have said to me,
In likewise hardily
Ye would answere whosoever it were,
In way of companày:
It is said of old, Soon hot, soon cold;
And so is a womàan:
Wherefore I to the wood will go,
Alone, a banished man.
She. If ye take heed, it is no need
Such words to say to me;
For oft ye prayed, and long assayed,
Or I loved you, pardàe:
And though that I of ancestry
A baron’s daughter be,
Yet have you proved how I you loved,
A squire of low degree;
And ever shall, whatso befall,
To die therefore anone;
For, in my mind, of all mankind
I love but you alone.
He. A baron’s child to be beguiled,
It were a cursàed deed!
To be felàaw with an outlaw—
Almighty God forbede!
Yet better were the poor squyere
Alone to forest yede9
Than ye shall say another day
That by my cursàed rede
Ye were betrayed. Wherefore, good maid,
The best rede that I can,
Is, that I to the green-wood go,
Alone, a banished man.
She. Whatever befall, I never shall
Of this thing be upbraid:
But if ye go, and leave me so,
Then have ye me betrayed.
Remember you wele, how that ye dele;
For if ye, as ye said,
Be so unkind to leave behind
Your love, the Nut-brown Maid,
Trust me trulày that I shall die
Soon after ye be gone:
For, in my mind, of all mankind
I love but you alone.
He. If that ye went, ye should repent;
For in the forest now
I have purveyed me of a maid
Whom I love more than you:
Another more fair than ever ye were
I dare it well avow;
And of you both each should be wroth
With other, as I trow:
It were mine ease to live in peace;
So will I, if I can:
Wherefore I to the wood will go,
Alone, a banished man.
She. Though in the wood I understood
Ye
had a paramour,
All
this may nought remove my thought,
But
that I will be your’:
And
she shall find me soft and kind
And
courteis every hour;
Glad
to fulfil all that she will
Command
me, to my power:
For
had ye, lo, an hundred mo,
Yet
would I be that one:
For,
in my mind, of all mankind
I
love but you alone.
He. Mine own dear love, I see the prove
That ye be kind and true;
Of maid, of wife, in all my life,
The best that ever I knew.
Be merry and glad; be no more sad;
The case is changàed new;
For it were ruth that for your truth
Ye should have cause to rue.
Be not dismayed, whatsoever I said
To you when I began:
I will not to the green-wood go;
I am no banished man.
She. These tidings be more glad to me
Than to be made a queen,
If I were sure they should endure;
But it is often seen
When men will break promise they speak
The wordis on the splene.10
Ye shape some wile me to beguile,
And steal from me, I ween:
Then were the case worse than it was,
And I more wo-begone:
For, in my mind, of all mankind
I love but you alone.
He. Ye shall not nede further to drede:
I will not disparàage
You (God defend), sith you descend
Of so great a linàage.
Now understand: to Westmoreland,
Which is my heritage,
I will you bring; and with a ring,
By way of marriàage
I will you take, and lady make,
As shortly as I can:
Thus have
you won an Earles son,
And not a banished man.
Here may ye see that women be
In love meek, kind, and stable;
Let never man reprove them than,
Or call them variable;
But rather pray God that we may
To them be comfortable;
Which sometime proveth such as He loveth,
If they be charitable.
For sith men would that women should
Be meek to them each one;
Much more ought they to God obey,
And serve but Him alone.
4 in fere: in company together.
16th Cent.
O MY deir hert, young Jesus sweit,
Prepare thy creddil in my spreit,
And I sall rock thee in my hert
And never mair from thee depart.
But I sall praise thee evermoir
With sangis sweit unto thy gloir;
The knees of my hert sall I bow,
And sing that richt Balulalow!
16th Cent.
AS ye came from the holy land
Of Walsinghame,
Met you not with my true love
By the way as you came?
How should I know your true love,
That have met many a one
As I came from the holy land,
That have come, that have gone?
She is neither white nor brown,
But as the heavens fair;
There is none hath her form divine
In the earth or the air.
Such a one did I meet, good sir,
Such an angelic face,
Who like a nymph, like a queen, did appear
In her gait, in her grace.
She hath left me here alone
All alone, as unknown,
Who sometime did me lead with herself,
And me loved as her own.
What’s the cause that she leaves you alone
And a new way doth take,
That sometime did love you as her own,
And her joy did you make?
I have loved her all my youth,
But now am old, as you see:
Love likes not the falling fruit,
Nor the withered tree.
Know that Love is a careless child,
And forgets promise past:
He is blind, he is deaf when he list,
And in faith never fast.
His desire is a dureless content,
And a trustless joy;
He is won with a world of despair,
And is lost with a toy.
Of womenkind such indeed is the love,
Or the word love abusàed,
Under which many childish desires
And conceits are excusàed.
But true love is a durable fire,
In the mind ever burning,
Never sick, never dead, never cold,
From itself never turning.
16th Cent.
BALOW, my babe, lie still and sleep!
It grieves me sore to see thee weep.
Wouldst thou be quiet I’se be glad,
Thy mourning makes my sorrow sad:
Balow my boy, thy mother’s joy,
Thy father breeds me great annoy—
Balow, la-low!
When he began to court my love,
And with his sugred words me move,
His fainings false and flattering cheer
To me that time did not appear:
But now I see most cruelly
He cares not for my babe nor me—
Balow, la-low!
Lie still, my darling, sleep awhile,
And when thou wak’st thou’le sweetly smile:
But smile not as thy father did,
To cozen maids: nay, God forbid!
But yet I fear thou wilt go near
Thy father’s heart and face to bear—
Balow, la-low!
I cannot choose but ever will
Be loving to thy father still;
Where’er he go, where’er he ride,
My love with him doth still abide;
In weal or woe, where’er he go,
My heart shall ne’er depart him fro—
Balow, la-low!
But do not, do not, pretty mine,
To fainings false thy heart incline!
Be loyal to thy lover true,
And never change her for a new:
If good or fair, of her have care
For women’s banning’s wondrous sare—
Balow, la-low!
Bairn, by thy face I will beware;
Like Sirens’ words, I’ll come not near;
My babe and I together will live;
He’ll comfort me when cares do grieve.
My babe and I right soft will lie,
And ne’er respect man’s cruelty—
Balow, la-low!
Farewell, farewell, the falsest youth
That ever kist a woman’s mouth!
I wish all maids be warn’d by me
Never to trust man’s curtesy;
For if we do but chance to bow,
They’ll use us then they care not how—
Balow, la-low!
16th Cent. (?)
THIS winter’s weather it waxeth cold,
And frost it freezeth on every hill,
And Boreas blows his blast so bold
That all our cattle are like to spill.
Bell, my wife, she loves no strife;
She said unto me quietly,
Rise up, and save cow Crumbock’s life!
Man, put thine old cloak about thee!
He.
O Bell my wife, why dost thou flyte?1
Thou kens my cloak is very thin:
It is so bare and over worn,
A cricket thereon cannot renn.
Then I’ll no longer borrow nor lend;
For once I’ll new apparell’d be;
To-morrow I’ll to town and spend;
For I’ll have a new cloak about me.
She.
Cow Crumbock is a very good cow:
She has been always true to the pail;
She has helped us to butter and cheese, I trow,
And other things she will not fail.
I would be loth to see her pine.
Good husband, counsel take of me:
It is not for us to go so fine—
Man, take thine old cloak about thee!
He.
My cloak it was a very good cloak,
It hath been always true to the wear;
But now it is not worth a groat:
I have had it four and forty year’.
Sometime it was of cloth in grain:2
’Tis now but a sigh clout3, as you may see:
It will neither hold out wind nor rain;
And I’ll have a new cloak about me.
She.
It is four and forty years ago
Sine the one of us the other did ken;
And we have had, betwixt us two,
Of children either nine or ten:
We have brought them up to women and men:
In the fear of God I trow they be.
And why wilt thou thyself misken?
Man, take thine old cloak about thee!
He.
O Bell my wife, why dost thou flyte?
Now is now, and then was then:
Seek now all the world throughout,
Thou kens not clowns from gentlemen:
They are clad in black, green, yellow and blue,
So far above their own degree.
Once in my life I’ll take a view;
For I’ll have a new cloak about me.
She.
King Stephen was a worthy peer;
His breeches cost him but a crown;
He held them sixpence all too dear,
Therefore he called the tailor ‘lown’.
He was a king and wore the crown,
And thou’se but of a low degree:
It’s pride that puts this country down:
Man, take thy old cloak about thee!He.
Bell my wife, she loves not strife,
Yet she will lead me, if she can;
And to maintain an easy life
I oft must yield, though I’m goodman.
It’s not for a man with a woman to threap,4
Unless he first give o’er the plea:
As we began, so will we keep,
And I’ll take my old cloak about me.2 cloth in grain: scarlet cloth.
3 sigh clout: a rag for straining.
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