He. I counsel you, Remember how,
It is no maiden's law,
Nothing to doubt, but to run out
To wood with an outlàw:
For ye must there in your hand bear
A bow, readỳ 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 did 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 in 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, hangèd to be,
And waver with the wind.
If I had need (as God forbid!)
What socours could ye find?
Forsooth, I trow, ye and your bow
For fear would draw behind:
And no marvèl; for little avail
Were in your counsel then:
Wherefore I will to the green-wood go,
Alone, a banished man.
She. Right well know ye that woman 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 or 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 heed; for ever I dread
That ye could not sustain
The thorny ways, the deep vallèys,
The snow, the frost, the rain,
The cold, the heat: for dry, or wet,
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 partynère
With you of joy and bliss,
I must alsò part of your woe
Endure, as reason is:
Yet am I sure of one pleasùre;
And shortly, it is this:
That, where ye be, me seemeth, pardè,
I could not fare amiss.
Without more speech, I you beseech
That we were soon agone;
For, in my mind, of all mankind
I love but you alone.
He. If you go thyder, ye must consider,
When ye have lust to dine,
There shall no meat be for you gete,
Neither beer, ale, nor wine;
No shétes 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 evil diéte
Should make you pale and wan;
Wherefore I will to the green-wood go,
Alone, a banished man.
She. Among the wild deer, such an archère
As men say that ye be,
Ne may not fail of good vitayle,
Where is so great plentè:
And water clear of the rivère
Shall be full sweet to me;
With which in hele 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 shote my hair, a bow to bear,
To shoot in time of need.
O my sweet mother, before all other
For you I have most dread!
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.