I am not what I seeme to bee,
My clothes and sexe doe differ farr:
I am a woman, woe is me!
Born[445] 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.
He was the flower of noble wights,
None ever more sincere colde bee; 30
Of comely mien and shape hee was,
And tenderlye hee loved mee.
When thus I saw he loved me well,
I grewe so proud his paine to see,
That I, who did not know myselfe, 35
Thought scorne of such a youth as hee.
[446]And grew soe coy and nice to please,
As women's lookes are often soe,
He might not kisse, nor hand forsooth,
Unlesse I willed him soe to doe. 40
Thus being wearyed with delayes
To see I pittyed not his greeffe,
He gott him to a secrett place,
And there he dyed without releeffe.
And for his sake these weeds I weare, 45
And sacriffice my tender age;
And every day Ile begg my bread,
To undergoe this pilgrimage.
Thus every day I fast and pray,
And ever will doe till I dye; 50
And gett me to some secrett place,
For soe did hee, and soe will I.
Now, gentle heardsman, aske no more,
But keepe my secretts I thee pray;
Unto the towne of Walsingam 55
Show me the right and readye way.
"Now goe thy wayes, and God before!
For he must ever guide thee still:
Turne downe that dale, the right hand path,
And soe, faire pilgrim, fare thee well!" 60