Myne owne hart dere, with you what chere? 45
I pray you, tell anone;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.
He.
It standeth so; a dede is do[251]
Wherof grete harme shall growe: 50
My destiny is for to dy
A shamefull deth, I trowe;
Or elles to fle: the one must be.
None other way I knowe,
But to withdrawe as an outlawe, 55
And take me to my bowe.
Wherfore, adue, my owne hart true!
None other rede I can:[252]
For I must to the grene wode go,
Alone, a banyshed man. 60
She.
O lord, what is thys worldys blysse,
That changeth as the mone!
My somers day in lusty may[253]
Is derked[254] before the none.
I here you say, farewell: Nay, nay 65
We dèpart[255] nat so sone.
Why say ye so? wheder[256] wyll ye go?
Alas! what have ye done?
All my welfàre to sorrowe and care
Sholde chaunge, yf ye were gone; 70
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.
He.
I can beleve, it shall you greve,
And somewhat you dystrayne;[257]
But, aftyrwarde, your paynes harde 75
Within a day or twayne
Shall sone aslake;[258] and ye shall take
Comfort to you agayne.
Why sholde ye ought? for, to make thought,
Your labour were in vayne. 80
And thus I do; and pray you to,
As hartely,[259] as I can;
For I must to the grene wode go,
Alone, a banyshed man.
She.
Now, syth that ye have shewed to me 85
The secret of your mynde,
I shall be playne to you agayne,
Lyke as ye shall me fynde.
Syth it is so, that ye wyll go,
I wolle not leve[260] behynde; 90
Shall never be sayd, the Not-browne Mayd[261]
Was to her love unkynde:
Make you redy, for so am I,
Allthough it were anone;[262]
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 95
I love but you alone.
He.