But fome falfe fende of helle

Ys comyn thy doghtur for to qwelle,

Let me quyte hur hur mede.

They dyght hur on the morne in fympull atyr,
And led hur forthe unto the fyre,

Many a oon wyth hur yede;
Sche feyde, God, of myghtys mooft,
Fadur and fone, and holy gooft,

As y dud nevyr thys dede,

Yf y gyltles be of thys,
Brynge me to thy bygly blys,

For thy grete godhede.

All that ever on hur can fee,
Wrange ther hondes for grete pytè,
And farde as they wolde wede.

The lorde, that had the doghtur dedd,
Hys herte turned in that stedd,

To wepe he can begynne.

He feyde, Florence, al fo mote y the,

For all the worlde to wynne.

To hur chaumbur he can hur lede,

And cled hur in hur own wede,

And feyde, Y hold hyt fynne.

1680

1690

They fet hur on hur own palfraye,
In all hur nobull ryche arraye,

Or evyr wolde he blynne;

And gaf hur the brydull in hur hande,

And broght hur to the wode ther he hur fande,

And than he lefte hur thare.

And betaght hur god and gode day,

And bad hur wende on hur way,

And then sche fyghed fare;

Syr, fche feyde, for charytè,
Let none of thy men folowe me

To worche me no more care.
Nay for god, he feyde, noon fchulde

For nyne tymes thy weyght of golde:

Home then can he fare.

1700

Thorow the foreste the lady rode,

1710

All glemed there sche glode

Tyll fche came in a felde.

Sche fawe men undur a galows ftande,
Thedur they ledd a thefe to hange,

To them then fche helde;

And haylefed them full curteslye.

They afkyd fro whens fche came in hye,

That worthy was to welde.

Sche feyde ye fchall wete of me no mare

But as a woman dyscownfortyd fare

Wythowten bote or belde;

No levyng lefe wyth me y have,

Wolde ye graunt me to be my knave,
The thefe that ye thynke to hynge.

The more buxum wyll he bee,

That he were borowyd fro the galow tree,

I hope be hevyn kynge.

Then ther councell toke thay,
They were lothe to feye hur nay,

Sche was fo feyre a thynge.

1720

1730

They gaf hym to hur of ther gyfte,
He was full lothe to leeve hys thefte;

Sche thankyd them olde and yynge.

Sche feyde, Wolde thou ferve me wele,
I fchulde the quyte every dele.

He feyde to hur, Yaa,

Ellys were y a grete fole,

And worthy to be drowned in a pole,

The galowfe thou delyvyrd me fra.

Sche thynkyth, Myght y come ovyr the fee, 1740 At Jerufalem wolde y bee,

Thedur to ryde or ga;

Then myght y spyr tythandes of Rome,

And of my lordys home come;

But now wakenyth hur waa.

A burges that was the thefys reyfet,
At the townes end he them mett,
The lady rode ovyr an hylle,

I wende thou hadyst be hangyd hye,
And he twynkylde wyth hys eye,

As who feyth, holde the stylle:

Thys gentyll woman hath borowed me,
For y fchulde hur knave bee,

And ferve hur at hur wylle;

And fythyn he rowned in hys eere,

I behete the all thys ryche gere,

Thy hows y wyll brynge hur tylle.

At thys burges hows he toke hur downe,

There was hur harburgerye.

On the hye deyse he hur fett,

And mete and drynke he hur fett,

Of the wyne redd as cherye.
The burges wyfe welcomed hur ofte,
Wyth mylde wordys and wyth fofte,

And bad hur ofte be merye.

1750

1760

Tho two false wyth grete yre,

Stode and behelde her ryche atyre,

And beganne to lagh and flerye.

The burges wyfe wyfte ther thoght,
And feyde in feythe we do for noght,

Yf fo be that y may.

At nyght to chaumbur fche hur ledd,
And fparryd the dore and went to bedd,

All nyght togedur they laye.

Sche calde on Clarebolde hur knave,

A lytyll errande for fothe y have,

At the fee fo graye;

Yf any schepe wende ovyr the ftreme

To the cyté of Jerufalem,

Gode fone wytt me to faye.

Clarebalde feyde the burges tylle,
Thys nyght had we not owre wylle,
We muste caste a nodur wyle.
To the fee they went in fere,

And fold hur to a marynere,

Wythynne a lytyll whyle;

On covenawnt fche ys the feyreft thynge,

That evyr ye fye olde or yynge,

And he at them can fmyle.

1770

1780

1790