NAY, IVY, NAY
Nay, Ivy, nay,
Hyt shal not be, I wys;
Let Holy hafe the maystry,
As the maner[108] ys.
Holy stond in the halle,
Fayre to behold;
Ivy stond wythout the dore,
She ys ful sore a-cold.
Nay, Ivy, nay ...
Holy and hys mery men,
They dawnsyn and they syng;
Ivy and hur maydenys,
They wepyn and they wryng.
Nay, Ivy, nay ...
Ivy hath a kybe,[109]
She kaght yt wyth the colde,
So mot thay all haf ae,
That wyth Ivy hold.
Nay, Ivy, nay ...
Holy hath berys,
As rede as any rose,
The foster[110] and the hunter
Kepe hem[111] fro the doos.
Nay, Ivy, nay ...
Ivy hath berys,
As blake as any slo,
Ther com the oulė,
And ete hym as she goo.
Holy hath byrdys,
A ful fayre flok,
The nyghtyngale, the poppynguy,
The gayntyl lavyrok.
Nay, Ivy, nay ...
Gode Ivy [tell me]
What byrdys ast thu?[112]
Non but the howlat,
That kreye[113] how, how!
Nay, Ivy, nay,
Hyt shal not be, I wys,
Let Holy hafe the maystry,
As the maner ys.