Here is a silver penny to spend,
And take it for your pain, sir;
And two of my father's men I'll send
To wait on you back again, sir.
He from his scabbard drew his brand,
And wiped it upon his sleeve-a!
And cursed, he said, be every man,
That will a maid believe-a!
She drew a bodkin from her haire,
And wip'd it upon her gown-a;
And curs'd be every maiden faire,
That will with men lye down-a!
A herb there is, that lowly grows,
And some do call it rue, sir:
The smallest dunghill cock that
Would make a capon of you, sir.
A flower there is, that shineth bright,
Some call it mary-gold-a:
He that wold not when he might,
He shall not when he wold-a.
The knight was riding another day,
With cloak, and hat, and feather:
He met again with that lady gay,
Who was angling in the river.
Now, lady faire, I've met with you,
You shall no more escape me;
Remember, how not long agoe
You falsely did intrap me.
He from his saddle down did light,
In all his riche attyer;
And cryed, As I'm a noble knight,
I do thy charms admyer.
He took the lady by the hand,
Who seemingly consented;
And would no more disputing stand:
She had a plot invented.
Looke yonder, good sir knight, I pray,
Methinks I now discover
A riding upon his dapple gray,
My former constant lover.