Where many a swan doth swymme with wyngis fair;

Where many a barge doth saile and row with are; Where many a ship doth rest with top-royall. O, towne of townes! patrone and not compare, London, thou art the flour of Cities all.

Upon thy lusty Brigge of pylers white

Been merchauntis full royall to behold;
Upon thy stretis goeth many a semely knyght
In velvet gownes and in cheynes of gold.
By Julyus Cesar thy Tour founded of old
May be the hous of Mars victoryall,

Whose artillary with tonge may not be told:
London, thou art the flour of Cities all.

Strong be thy wallis that about thee standis;
Wise be the people that within thee dwellis;
Fresh is thy ryver with his lusty strandis;

Blith by thy chirches, wele sownyng be thy bellis; Rich be thy merchauntis in substaunce that excellis ;

Fair be their wives, right lovesom, white and small;
Clere be thy virgyns, lusty under kellis:
London, thou art the flour of Cities all.

Thy famous Maire, by pryncely governaunce,
With sword of justice thee ruleth prudently.
No Lord of Parys, Venyce, or Floraunce
In dignitye or honour goeth to hym nigh.
He is exampler, loode-ster, and guye;
Principall patrone and rose orygynalle,
Above all Maires as maister most worthy :
London, thou art the flour of Cities all.

small] slender.

are] oar. dresses. guye] guide.

kellis] hoods, head

He.

THE NUT-BROWN MAID

15th century

BE it right or wrong, these men among
On women do complaine;
Affermyng this, how that it is
A labour spent in vaine

To love them wele; for never a dele
They love a man agayne,
For lete a man do what he can
Ther favour to attayne,
Yet if a newe to them pursue,
Ther furst trew lover than

Laboureth for nought, and from her thought

He is a bannisshed man.

She. I say not nay, but that all day

It is bothe writ and sayde

That woman's fayth is, as who saythe,
All utterly decayed:

But nevertheles, right good witnes

In this case might be layde,

That they love trewe, and contynew,

Recorde THE NUT-BROWNE MAIDE;
Whiche from her love, whan her to prove,
He cam to make his mone,

Wolde not departe, for in her herte
She lovyd but hym allone.

He. Than betwene us lete us discusse
What was all the maner

Betwene them too: we wyl also
Telle all the peyne in-fere

That she was in; now I begynne,

Soo that ye me answere:

never a dele] never a bit.

in company together.

than] then.

in-fere]

Wherfore all ye that present be,
I pray you geve an eare.

I am the knyght, I cum be nyght,
As secret as I can,

Saying, Alas! thus stondyth the case,
I am a bannisshed man!

She. And I your wylle for to fulfylle
In this wyl not refuse,

Trusting to shewe, in wordis fewe,
That men have an ille use,

To ther owne shame, wymen to blame,
And causeles them accuse :

Therefore to you I answere now,
Alle wymen to excuse,

Myn owne hert dere, with you

I

prey you telle anoon :

what chiere

For in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you allon.

He. It stondith so: a dede is do

Wherof moche harme shal growe.

My desteny is for to dey

A shamful dethe, I trowe,
Or ellis to flee,-the ton must be :
None other wey I knowe,
But to withdrawe as an outlaw,
And take me to my bowe.

Wherfore, adew, my owne hert trewe,
None other red I can ;

For I muste to the grene-wode goo,
Alone, a bannysshed man.

She. O Lorde, what is this worldis blisse,
That chaungeth as the mone!

red I can] counsel I know.

My somers day in lusty May
Is derked before the none.
I here you saye, Farwel: nay, nay,
We departe not soo sone.

Why say ye so? Wheder wyl ye goo?
Alas, what have ye done?

Alle my welfare to sorow and care
Shulde chaunge, yf ye were gon:
For in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.

He. I can beleve it shal you greve,
And somwhat you distrayne;
But aftyrwarde your paynes harde
Within a day or tweyne

Shal sone aslake, and ye

Confort to you agayne.

shal take

Why shuld ye nought? for, to make thought,
Your labur were in vayne,

And thus I do, and pray you, too,

As hertely as I can :

For I muste too the grene-wode goo,
Alone, a banysshed man.

She. Now syth that ye have shewed to me
The secret of your mynde,

I shal be playne to you agayne,
Lyke as ye shal me fynde :
Syth it is so that ye wyll goo,

I wol not leve behynde;

Shal never be sayd the Nutbrowne Mayd
Was to her love unkind.

Make you redy, for soo am I,
All though it were anoon :

For in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.

He. Yet I you rede to take good hede
What men wyl thinke and sey;
Of yonge and olde it shal be tolde,
That ye be gone away

Your wanton wylle for to fulfylle,
In grene-wood you to play;
And that ye myght from your delyte
Noo lenger make delay.

Rather than ye shuld thus for me
Be called an ylle woman

Yet wolde I to the grene-woode goo
Alone, a banyshed man.

She. Though it be songe of olde and yonge
That I shuld be to blame,

Theirs be the charge that speke so large
In hurting of my name.
For I wyl prove that feythful love
It is devoyd of shame,

In your distresse and hevynesse

To parte wyth you the same;
And sure all thoo that doo not so,
Trewe lovers ar they noon;
But in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.

He. I councel yow remembre how
It is noo maydens lawe,

Nothing to dought, but to renne out
To wod with an outlawe.

parte wyth] share with.

thoo] those.