"This poem is printed from a copy in the Editor's folio MS. which had greatly suffered by the hand of time; but vestiges of several of the lines remaining, some conjectural supplements have been attempted, which, for greater exactness, are in this one ballad distinguished by italics." Percy.
Gentle heardsman, tell to me,
Of curtesy I thee pray,
Unto the towne of Walsingham
Which is the right and ready way.
"Unto the towne of Walsingham5
The way is hard for to be gon;
And verry crooked are those pathes
For you to find out all alone."
Weere the miles doubled thrise,
And the way never soe ill,10
Itt were not enough for mine offence,
Itt is soe grievous and soe ill.
"Thy yeeares are young, thy face is faire,
Thy witts are weake, thy thoughts are greene;
Time hath not given thee leave, as yett,15
For to committ so great a sinne."
Yes, heardsman, yes, soe woldest thou say,
If thou knewest soe much as I;
My witts, and thoughts, and all the rest,
Have well deserved for to dye.20
I am not what I seeme to bee,
My clothes and sexe doe differ farr:
I am a woman, woe is me!
Born to greeffe and irksome care.
For my beloved, and well-beloved,25
My wayward cruelty could kill:
And though my teares will nought avail,
Most dearely I bewail him still.