 | Ballads in Imitation of the Antient |  |
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A Ballad, of the Ladie and the Knight,
Shewing how Prudence was overcome by Love.
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[_]
The subject of the following Lines in imitation of Geoffrey Chaucer, is in some measure formed on the model of the celebrated Ballad of the Nut Brown Maid, printed in Arnold's Chronicle, a very rare book, without the name of its author being affixed. The work here alluded to was printed about the year 1502, but the stanzas are evidently of a much earlier date.
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'Twas in the lusty month of May,
When Phœbus' rays shot wide around;
When little birds 'gan tune their lay,
And fill the woods with merry sound,
That I did stretch me on the ground;
And as I lay, I smil'd to see
The green leaves budding on each tree.
When Phœbus' rays shot wide around;
When little birds 'gan tune their lay,
And fill the woods with merry sound,
That I did stretch me on the ground;
And as I lay, I smil'd to see
The green leaves budding on each tree.
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The daisie, rose and daffodil,
The violet, pink and lily white,
The cowslip growing by the rill,
With other flowers did glad my sight,
And raise within me much delight.
And as I smil'd, my mind did say,
The show'rs are gone and welcome May.
The violet, pink and lily white,
The cowslip growing by the rill,
With other flowers did glad my sight,
And raise within me much delight.
And as I smil'd, my mind did say,
The show'rs are gone and welcome May.
And having thought in such manere,
Anon there came a comely Squire
With whom there stalk'd a gentle fere
Whose comliness he did admire;
To whom he spake of love's soft fire,
Craving that she would ease his pain
Nor let him sigh and love in vain.
Anon there came a comely Squire
With whom there stalk'd a gentle fere
Whose comliness he did admire;
To whom he spake of love's soft fire,
Craving that she would ease his pain
Nor let him sigh and love in vain.
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Sir Knight quod
she I'd fain believe
That all you vow and swear be true;
But men a maiden's love will thieve
And then her fondnefs she will rue.
And such may prove the case with you;
Therefore your vows are ever ichone
Like chaff that by the wind is blown.
That all you vow and swear be true;
But men a maiden's love will thieve
And then her fondnefs she will rue.
And such may prove the case with you;
Therefore your vows are ever ichone
Like chaff that by the wind is blown.
Lady, quod she, though some be so,
I am no man of fickle mind;
I ne'er would fill thy breast with woe
I am a gentle Knight, and kind;
Nor would I waver with the wind;
Therefore I prithee let me prove
How true an English Knight can love.
I am no man of fickle mind;
I ne'er would fill thy breast with woe
I am a gentle Knight, and kind;
Nor would I waver with the wind;
Therefore I prithee let me prove
How true an English Knight can love.
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With that he cast a look full meek,
And then he heav'd a doleful sigh;
The tears roll'd fast adown his cheek,
Whilst others shone in either eye;
Madam, quod he, have charity,
Were I my sum of love to say,
The tale would last till Domesday.
And then he heav'd a doleful sigh;
The tears roll'd fast adown his cheek,
Whilst others shone in either eye;
Madam, quod he, have charity,
Were I my sum of love to say,
The tale would last till Domesday.
She smiled sweet, her hand she gave,
Quod she, I must believe thee kind;
If thou be false, then Christ thee save
For never one had falser mind,
Not Fortune's self though she be blind.
So grant that thou abide thine oath
As I shall keep my plighted troth.
Quod she, I must believe thee kind;
If thou be false, then Christ thee save
For never one had falser mind,
Not Fortune's self though she be blind.
So grant that thou abide thine oath
As I shall keep my plighted troth.
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With that full many words he spake,
To which she answer'd many more;
Again he vow'd he'd never break
The oath which he so oft had swore
That he for aye would her adore.
God grant that so he keep his say
She ne'er may rue the month of May.
To which she answer'd many more;
Again he vow'd he'd never break
The oath which he so oft had swore
That he for aye would her adore.
God grant that so he keep his say
She ne'er may rue the month of May.
| Ballads in Imitation of the Antient | |