Schall y nevyr my lorde fee?

No, be god that dyed on tre,

The falfe traytur can faye.

Up he hur cafte, and forthe they rode,

Haftély wythowten any abode,

Thys longe fomers day.

They were nyghtyd in a wode thyck,
A logge made that traytur wyck,

Undurnethe a tree.

There he wolde have leyn hur by,
And sche made hur preyer fpecyally,

To god and Mary free,
Let nevyr thys falfe fende

My body nodur fchame nor fchende,
Myghtfull in mageftè !

Hys lykyng vanyfched all away,
On the morne, when hyt was day,
Ther horfys bothe dyght hee,

Up he hur cafte, and forthe they rode,
Thorow a forefte longe and brode,

That was feyre and grene.

Tyll eyder odur mekyll care,
The lady hungurd wondur fare,

That was bryght and fchene;

1440

1450

She had levyr a lofe of bredd

Then mekyll of the golde redd
That fche before had seen,
To hyt drewe to the evenynge,
Then they herde a belle rynge,

Thorow the grace that godd can lene,

1460

A holy armyte fownde he there,
To greve god full lothe hym were,
For he had fervyd hym aye.
Thedur they wente to aske mete.
The armyte feyde, Soche as y ete

Ye fchall have, dere damyfell, y fay.
A barly lofe he broght hur too,
And gode watur: full fayne was fcho,

That fwete derworthe maye.

Therof the yonge lady ete,

Sche thoght never noon fo fwete,

Be nyght nodur be day.

Mylys ete ther of als,

He feyde, Hyt ftekyth in my hals,

I may not gete hyt downe. Chorle, god yf the fchames dedd,

Brynge us of thy bettur bredd,

1470

Be god, he feyde, that boght me dere,

I had no bettur thys feven yere.

The wykkyd man tho made hym bowne,

In at the dore he hym bete,

And fethyn fyre upon hym fete,

Ferre fro every towne.

The holy armyte brente he thare,
And lefte that bygly hows full bare,
That femely was to fee.

The lady beganne to cry and yelle,

And fayde, Traytur, thou fchalt be in helle,

There evyr to wonne and bee.

He made the lady to fwere an othe,

That fche fchulde not telle for lefe nor lothe,

Nevyr in no cuntre,

Fro whens thou came, nor what thou ys,
Nor what man broght the fro thy blyffe,

Or here y fchall brenne the.

To make that othe the lady was fayne,
And there he wolde by hur have layne,
But fche preyed god to be hur fchylde;
And ryght as he was at asfaye

Hys lykyng vanyfcht all awaye,

Thorow the myght of Mary mylde.

1480

1490

1500

Tymely as the day can dawe,

He led her thorow a feyre fchawe,

In wodes wafte and wylde;

Evyn at undurne lyghtyd he
Downe undur a cheften tre,

The feyreft in that fylde.

He feyde, Thou hafte wychyd me,

I may not have to do wyth the,

Undo or thou schalt abye.

Sche anfweryd hym wyth mylde mode,

Thorow grace of hym that dyed on rode,

Falfe traytur, thou schalt lye.

He bonde hur be the treffe of the heere,
And hangyd hur on a tre there,

That ylke feyre bodye;

He bete hur wyth a yerde of byrke,
Hur nakyd flesche, tyll he was yrke,

Sche gaf many a rewfull crye.

There was a lorde that hyght Tyrry

Wonned a lytyll there by,

In a forefte fyde,

Thedur was he comyn that day,

Wyth hawkys and howndys hym for to play,

In that wode fo wyde.

1510

1520

He harde the crye of that lady free,

Thedur he went and hys meynè,

Al fo fafte as they myght ryde;

When Mylys was warre of ther comyng,

He lepe on hys hors and forthe can spryng,

And durfte no lenger byde.

The feyreft palfrey lefte he there,
And hurfelfe hangyd be the heere,

And hur ryche wede,

Hur fadull and hur brydull fchone,
Set wyth mony a precyus stone,

The feyreft in that thede.

Sche was the feyrest creature,

And therto whyte as lylly flowre,

In romance as we rede;

Hur feyre face hyt fchone full bryght,

To fe hyt was a femely fyght,

Tyll hur full faste they yede.

Then they lowfyd hur feyre faxe,

That was yelowe as the waxe,

And schone alfo as golde redd.

Sche myght not speke, the romance feyde,

On a lyter they hur leyde,

And to the castell hur ledd.

1530

1540

1550