‘But who is yond, thou good ladye,
Comes yonder with an osterne[1133] face?’
‘Yond’s Sir John Forster, Jamye,’ she sayd;
‘Alas! he’ll do ye sore disgrace.’
XXVIII
He pulled his hat downe over his eyes,
And, Lord, he wept soe tenderlye!
He is gone unto his master againe,
And even to tell him the veretye.
XXIX
‘Now hast thou beene with Mary,’ he sayd,
‘Even as thy tounge will tell to mee;
But if thou trust any woman’s words,
Thou must refraine good companye.’
XXX
‘It is noe words, my lord,’ he sayes;
‘Yonder the men she lets me see,
How many English lords there is
Is wayting there for you and mee.
XXXI
‘Yonder I see the Lord Hunsden,
And he and you is of third degree[1134];
A greater enemye, indeed, my Lord,
In England never a one have yee.’—