Wherby to you grete harme myght groove
Yet had I 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,
As I have sayd before,
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.
HEFor an outlawe this is the lawe,
That men hym take and bynde;
Without pytè, hanged to be,
And waver with the wynde.
If I had nede, (as God forbede!)
What rescous coude ye fynde?
Forsoth, I trowe, ye and your bowe
For fere wold drawe behynde:
And no mervayle; for lytell avayle
Were in your counceyle than:
Wherfore I wyll to the grene wode go,
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 such fere yf that ye were
With enemyes day or nyght,
I wolde withstand, with bowe in hande,
To greve them as I myght,
And you to save; as women have
From deth men many one:
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone."
HE"Yet take good hede; for ever I drede
That ye coude nat sustayne
The thornie wages, the depe valèies,