Obrazy na stronie

(and awe;

shall growe;

rede I can;

not so sone:

Myne owne hart dere, with you what chere? I pray

A. you, tell anone;

I counceyle you, remember howe it is no mayden's Por, in my mynde, of all mankynde, I love but you lawe,

[outlàwe: alone.

Nothyne to dout, but to renne out to wode with an A.

For ye must there in your hand bere a bowe, redy It standeth so; a dede is do, whereof grete harm to drawe;

And, as a thefe, thus must you lyve, ever in drende My destiny is for to dy a shamefull deth, I trowe; Wherby to you grete harme myght growe: yet had Or elles to file: the one must be; none other way I lever than,

(man. I knowe,

[my bowe.

That I had to the grene wode go, alone, a banyshed But to withdrawe as an outlawe, and take me to Wherfore, adue, my owne hart true! none other


(man. I say nat, nay, but as ye say, it is no mayden's lore: For I must to the grene wode go, alone, a banyshed But love may make me, for your sake, as I have

sayd before,

[in store; B.

To come on fote, to hunt, and shote, to get us mete O Lorde, what is this worldys blysse, that chaungeth for so that I your company may have, I aske no as the Mone!


[ony stone; The somers day in lusty May is derked before the From which to part, it maketh my hart as cold as I here you say, “ Farewell !” Nay, nay, we départ For, in my mynde, of all mankynde, I love but you

[ye done?

alone. Why say ye so? wheder wyll ye go? alas, what have

A. All my welfare to sorowe and care sholde chaunge,

For an outlawe, this is the lawe,--that men hym yf ye were gone; (alone. take and hynde;

[wynde. For, in my mynde, of all mankynde, I love but you without pytė, hanged to be, and waver with the A.

Yf I had neede, (as God forbede!) what socours

coude ye fynde? (drawe behynde: I can beleve, it shall you greve, and somwhat you For sothe I trowe, ye and your bowe for fere wolde dystrayne;

(or twayne And no mervayle; for lytell avayle were in your But, aftyrwarde, your paynes harde within a day councele than :

(nyshed man. Shall sone aslake, and ye shall take comfort to you Wherfore I'll to the grene wode go, alone, a ba

agayne. Why sholde ye ought? for, to make thought, your

B. labour were in vayne.

Right wele knowe ye, that women be but feble for And thus I do; and pray you to, as hartely as I can'; to fyght;

(knyght: For I must to the grene wode go, alone, a banyshed No womanhede it is, indeede, to be bolde as a

Yet, in such fere yf that ye were with enemyes day B.

and night,

[with my myght, Now, syth that ye have shewed to me the secret of I wolde withstande, with bowe in hande, to helpe you your mynde,

[fynde: And you to save; as woinen have from deth many a I shall be playne to you agayne, lyke as ye shall me


(alone. Syth it is so that ye wyll go, I wolle not leve be- For, in my mynde, of all mankynde, I love but you hynde; [her love unkynde :

Shall it never be sayd, the Notbrowne Mayd was to
Make you redy'; for so am I, although it were Yet take good hede; for ever I drede that ye conde
anone ;

nat sustayne

[frost, the rayne, For, in my mynde, of all mankynde, I love but you The thornie wayes, the depe valèies, the snowe, the

The colde, the hete: for, dry or wete, we must lodge A.

on the playne;

[twayne : Yet I you rede to take good hede what men wyll And, us above, none other rofe but a brake, bush, or thynke and say:

[away: Which sone sholde greve you, I beleve; and ye Of yonge and olde it shall be tolde, that ye be gone

wolde gladly than,

(man. Your wanton wyll for to fulfill, in grene wode you

That I had to the grene wode go, alone, a banyshed to play; (make delay :

B. And that ye myght from your delyght no lenger Rather than ye sholde thus for me be called an yll Syth I have here been partynère with you of joy womàn,


and blysse, Yet wolde I to the greue wode go, alone, a banysbed I must also parte of your wo endure, as reson is:

Yet am I sure of one pleasure ; and, shortely, it is B.


[fare amysse. Though it be songe of olde and yonge, that I sholde That, where ye be, me semeth, pardė, I coude not be to blame,

(of my name: Without more speche, I you beseche that we were Theyrs be the charge that speke so large in hurtynge

shortely gone;

(alone. For I wyll prove, that faythfull love it is devoyd For, in my mynde, of all mankynde, I love but you of shame; (the same;

In your distresse, and hevynesse, to part wyth you,
To shewe all tho that do nat so, true lovers are they Yf ye goo thyder, ye must consider,—whan ve hare

Just to dyne,

(ale, ne wine; Por, in my mynde, of all mankynde, I love but you There shall no mcte, be for to gete, neyther bere



3 nowe



Ne shetes clene to lye-betwene, maden of tbrede, Ye were betrayed: wherfore, good mayd, the best and twyne; [your hed and myne : rede that I can,

(man. None other house, but leves and bowes, to cover is, that I to the grene wode go, alone, a banyshed O myne hart swete, this evyll dyète sholde make you pale and wan; (nyshed man

B. Wherfore I'll to the grene wode go, alone, a ba- Whatever befall, I never shall of this thyng you


(trayed. B.

But yf ye go, and leve me so, than have ye me beAmonge the wylde dere, such an archère as men Remember you wele howe that ye dele; for, if ye say that ye be,

(plente? be as ye sayd, (notbrowne mayda May ye nat fayle of good vitayle, where is so grete Ye were unkynde, to leve behynde, your love, the And water clere of the ryvère shall be full swete to Trust me truly, that I shall dy sone after ye be me;

(sball see:

With which in hele I shall ryght wele endure, as ģe For, in my mynde, of all mankynde, I love but you
And, or we go, a bedde or two I can provyde anone;
For, in my myyje, of all mankynde, I love but you

A. alone.

Yf that ye went, ye sholde repent: for in the forcst A.

(than you: Lo yet, before, ye must do more, yf ye wyll go with I have purvayed mc of a mayd, whom I love more

(the kne: Another fayrère than ever ye were, I dare it wele As cut your here above your ere, your kyrtel above

(as I trowe: With bowe in hande, tor to withstande your ene- And of you bothe eche sholde be wrothe with other, myes, yf nede be:

It were myne ese, to lyve in pese; so well I, yf í And, this same nyght, before day-lyght, to wode


(man. warde wyll i tle.

Wherfore I to the wode wyll go, alone, a banyshed Yf that ye wyll all this fuláll, do it shortly' as ye can;


B. Els wyll I to the grene wode go, alone, a banyshed Though in the wode 1 undyrstode ye had a para


(I will be your: B.

All this may nought remove my thought, but that I shall as nowe do more for you than longeth to wo. And she shall fynde me soft, and kynde, and courmanhede;

(of nede:
teys every hour;

(my power: To shorte my here, a bow to bere, to shote in tyme Glad to fulfyll all that she wyll commannde me, to O my swete mother, before all other for you I have for had ye, lo, an hundred mo, yet wolde I be that most drede:

(me lede,

(alone. But nowe adue! I must ensue where Fortune doth | For, in my mynde, of all mankynde, I love but you All this make ye: nowe let us fle; the day cometh fast upon;


A. For, in my mynde, of all mankynde, I love but you Myne own dere love, I se the prove that ye be

kynde, and true;

[ever I knewe. A.

Of mayde, and wyfe, in all my lyfe, the best that Nay, nay, nat so; ye shall nat go, and I shall tell Be mery and glad, be no more sad, the case is you why,

chaunged newe; {have cause to reme: Your appetyght is to be lyght of love, I wcle espy : For it were rathe, that, for your truthe, ye sholde For, lyke as ye have sayed to me, in lyke wyse Be nat dismayed; whatsoever I sayd to you, whan hardely

I began,

(man. Ye wolde answère, whosoever it were, in way of I wyll not to the grene wode go, I am no banyshed It is sayd of olde,“ Sone hote, sone colde;" and

B. so is a woman :

(man For I must to the grene wode go, alone, a banyshed | These tydings be more gladder to me than to be

made a quene,

(sene, B.

Yf I were sure they sholde endure: but it is often Yf ye take hede, it is no nede such wordes to say Whan men wyli breke promyse, they speke the by me;

(loved, pardė:

wordes on the splene : (me I wene: For oft ye prayed, and longe assayed, or I you Ye shape some wyle, me to begyle, and stele from And though that I of auncestry a baron's daughter Than were the case worse than it was, and I more be,

(of lowe degre;

(alone. Yet have you proved howe / you loved, a sqnver For, in my mynde, of all mankynde, I love but you And ever shall, whatso befall; to dy therefore

A. anone;

(alone. For, in my mynde, of all mankynde, I love but you Ye shall nat nede further to drede; I will not dys


(a lynage. A.

You, (God defende!) syth you descend of so grete A baron's chylde to be begylde! it were a cursed Nowe understande,

-- to Westmarlande, which is dede:

myne herytage,

(maryage To be felaue with an ontlàre! Almighty God for- I wyll you bringe; and with a rynge, by way of Yea, beto's werc, the pore squyère alone to forest I wyll you take, and lady make, as shortely as I yede, (dede

(man. Than ye shulde say another day, that by that cursed Thus have ye won an erlys son, and not a banyshed



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And (all due honours faithfully discharg'd) Here may ye se, that women be, in love, meke, Had brought back his paternal coat, enlarg'a kynde, and stable :

With a new mark, the witness of his toil, Late never man reprove them than,

And no inglorious part of foreigu spoil. But, rather, pray God, that we may to them be

From the loud camp retird, and noisy court, comfortable,

(be charytable.

In honourable ease and rural sport, Which sometyme proved such as he loved, yf they The remnant of his days he safely past ; Forsoth, men wolde that women sholde be' meke to Nor found they lagg's too slow, nor flew too fast them ech one;

[but hym alone. He made his wish with his estate comply, Moche more ought they to God obey, and serve Joyful to live, yet not afraid to die.

One child he bad, a daughter chaste and fair,
His age's comfort, and his fortune's heir.
They call'd her Emma; for the beauteous dame,

Who gave the virgin birth, bad borne the name:

The name th' indulgent father doubly lor'd:

For in the child the mother's charms impror'd.

Yet as, when little, round his knees she play'd,

He call'd her oft, in sport, his Nut-brown Maid,
The friends and tenants took the fondling word,

(As still they please, who imitate their lord):

Usage confirm'd what fancy had begun ;

The mutual terms around the land were known : Thou, to whose eyes I bend, at whose command And Emma and the Nut-brown Maid were one. ('Though low my voice, though artless be my hand, As with her stature, still ber charms increas'd; I take the sprightly reed, and sing, and play, Through all the isle her beauty was confess d. Careless of what the censuring world may say: Oh! what perfections must that virgin share, Bright Cloe, object of my constant vow,

Who fairest is esteem'd, where all are fair! Wilt thou awhile unbend thy serious brow? From distant shires repair the noble youth, Wilt thou with pleasure hear thy lover's strains, And find report, for once, bad lessen'd truth. And with one heavenly smile o'erpay his pains ? By wonder first, and then by passion mor'd, No longer shall the Nut-brown Maid be old; They came; they saw; they marveli'd; and they Though since her youth three hundred years have By public praises, and by secret sighs, flor'd At thy desire, she shall again be rais'd; (rollid: Each owu'd the general power of Emma's eyes And her reviving charms in lasting verse be prais'd. In tilts and tournaments the valiant strove,

No longer man of woman shall complain, By glorious deeds, to purchase Emma's love. That he may love, and not be lov'd again : In gentle verse the witty told their flame, That we in vain the fickle sex pursue,

And grae'd their choicest songs with Emma's Dame Who change the constant lover for the new. In vain they combated, in vain they writ: Whatever has been writ, whatever said,

l'seless their strength, and impotent their wit. Of female passion feign'd, or faith decay'd Great Venus only must direct the dart, Henceforth shall in my verse refuted stand, Which else will never reach the fair-one's heart, Be said to winds, or writ upon the sand.

Spite of th' attempts of force, and soft etfects of arta And, while my notes to future times proclaim Great Venus must prefer the happy one: Unconquer'd love, and ever-during flame, In Henry's cause her favour must be shown; O fairest of the sex! be thou my Muse :

And Emma, of mankind, must love but bim alones Deign on my work thy influence to diffuse.

While these in public to the castle came, Let me partake the blessings I rehearse,

And by their grandeur justified their flame; And grant me, love, the just reward of verse! More secret ways the careful Henry takes;

As beauty's potent queen, with every grace, His squires, his arms, and equipage forsakes: That once was Emma's, has adorn'd thy face; In borrow'd name, and false attire array'd, And as her son has to my bosom dealt

Oft he finds means to see the beauteous maid. That constant flame, which faithful Henry felt: When Emma hunts, in huntsman's habit drest O let the story with thy life agree:

Henry on foot pursues the bounding beast.
Let men once more the bright example see; In his right-hand his beechen pole he bears;
What Emma was to him, be thou to me.

And graceful at his side his horn be wears.
Nor sepd me by thy frown from her I love, Still to the glade, where she has bent her way,
Distant and sad, a banish'd man to rove.

With knowing skill he drives the future prey;
But, oh! with pity, long-entreated, crown

Bids her decline the hill, and shun the brakt; My pains and hopes; and, when thou say'st that And shows the path her steed may safest take;

Directs her spear to fix the glorious wound;
Of all mankind thou lov'st, oh! think on me alone. Pleas'd in his toils to have her triumph crown'dy

And blows her praises in no common sound.
Where beauteous Isis and her husband Tame, A falconer Henry is, when Emma hawks:
With mingled waves, for ever flow the same, With her of tarsels and of lures he talks.
in times of yore an ancient baron liv'd;

l'pon his wrist the towering merlin stands, Great gifts bestow'd, and great respect receiv'd. Practis'd to rise, and stoop at her commands.

When dreadful Edward, with successful care, And when superior now the bird has flown, Led bis free Britons to the Gallic war;

And headlong brought the tumbling quarry downs This lord had headed his appointed bands, With humble reverence he accosts the fair, tu arm allegiance to his king's commands; And with the honour'd feather decks her hain



Vet still, as from the sportive field she goes, But if the fair-one, as he fear., is frail ;
His down cast eye reveals his inward woes; If, pois'd aright in Reason': equal scale,
And by his look and sorrow is exprest,

Light fly her merit, and her faults prevail;
A nobler game pursued than bird or beast. His mind he vows to free from amorous care,

& shepherd now along the plain he roves; The latent mischief from his heart to tear, And, with bis jolly pipe, delights the groves. Resume his azure arms, and shine again in war. The neighbouring swains around the stranger South of the castle, in a verdant glade, throng,

A spreading beech extends her friendly shade. Or to admire, or emulate his song:

Here oft the nymph his breathing vows had heard; While with soft sorrow he renews his lays,

Here oft her silunce had her heart declar'd. Nor heedful of their envy, nor their praise. As active Spring awak'd her infant buds, But, soon as Emma's eyes adorn the plain, And genial life inform’d the verdant woods; His notes he raises to a nobler strain,

Henry, in knots involving Emma's name, With dutiful respect and studious fear;

Had half express'd, and half conceal'd, his flame, Lest any careless soand offend her ear.

Upon this tree: and, as the tender mark A frantic gipsy now, the house he haunts, Grew with the year, and widend with the bark, And in wild phrases speaks dissembled wants. Venus had heard the virgin's soft address, With the fond maids in palmistry he deals : That, as the wound, the passion might increase. They tell the secret first, which he reveals; As potent Nature shed her kindly showers, Says who shall wed, and who shall be beguild; And deck'd the various mead with opening flowers, What groom shall get, and squire maintain the Upon this tree the nymph's obliging care child.

Had left a frequent wreath for Henry's hair; But, when bright Emma would her fortune know, Which, as with gay delight the lover found, A softer look unbends his opening brow;

Pleas'd with his conquest, with her present With trembling awe he gazes on her eye,

crown'd, And in soft accents forms the kind reply;

Glorious through all the plains he oft had gone, That she shall prove as fortunate as fair;

And to each swain the mystic honour shown; And Hymen's choicest gifts are all reservd for her. The gift still prais'd, the giver still unknown.

Now oft had Henry chang'd his sly disguise, His secret note the troubled Henry writes: Unmark'd by all but beauteous Emma's eyes : To the lone tree the lovely maid invites : Oft had found means alone to see the dame, Imperfect words and dubious terms express, And at her feet to breathe his amorous flame;

That unforeseen mischance disturb’d his peace; And oft, the pangs of absence to remove,

That he must something to her ear commend, By letters, soft interpreters of love :

On which her conduct and his life depend. Till Time and Industry (the mighty two

Soon as the fair-one had the note receivd, That bring our wishes nearer to our view)

T'he remnant of the day alone she griev'd: Made him perceive, that the inclining fair For different this from every former note, Receir'd his rows with no reluctant ear;

Which Venus dictated, and Henry wrote; That Venus bad confirm'd her equal reign, Which told her all his future hopes were laid And deait to Emma's heart a share of Henry's pain. On the dear bosom of his Nut brown Maid;

While Cupid smild, by kind occasion bless'd, Which always bless'd her eyes, and own'd her And, with the secret kept, the love increas'd;

power; The amorous youth frequents the silent groves; And bid her oft adieu, yet added more. And much he meditates, for much he loves. Now night advanc'd. The house in sleep were laid: He loves, 'tis true; and is belov'd again :

The nurse experienc'd, and the prying maid, Great are his joys; but will they long remain? 1. And, last, that sprite, which does incessant haupt Emma with smiles receives his present fame; The lover's steps, the ancient maiden-aunt. But, smiling, will she ever be the same?

To her dear Henry, Emma wings her way, Beautiful looks are ruld by fickle minds;

With quicken'd pace repairing forc'd delay; And summer seas are turn'd by sudden winds. For Love, fantastic power, that is afraid Another love may gain her easy youth:

To stir abroad till Watchfulness, be laid, Time changes thought, and tlattery conquers truth. Undaunted then o'er cliffs and valleys strays, O impotent estate of human life!

And leads his votaries safe through pathless wayk Where Hope and Fear maintain eternal strife; Not Argus, with his hundred eyes, shall find Where fleeting joy does lasting doubt inspire ; Where Cupid goes; though he, poor guide! in And most we question, what we most desire!

blind. Amongst thy various gifts, great Heaven, bestow The maiden first arriving, sent her eye Our cup of love unmix'd; forbear to throw 'To ask, if yet its chief delight were nigh:Bitter ingredients in ; nor pall the draught With fear and with desire, with joy and pain, With nauseous grief: for our ill.judging thought She sees,' and runs to meet him on the plain, Hardly enjoys the pleasurable taste;

But, ob ! his steps proclaim wo lover's baste: Or deems it not sincere; or fears it cannot last. On the low ground his fixir regards are cast;

With wishes rais’d, with jealousies opprest, His artful bosom heaves dissembled sighs; (Alternate tyrants of the human breast)

And tears suborn'd fall copious from his eyes
By one great trial he resolves to prove

With case, alas! we credit what we love:
The faith of woman, and the force of love. His painted grief does real sorrow move
If, scanning Emma's virtues, he may find

In the afflicted fair; adown her cheek
That beauteous frame enclose a steady mind, Trickling the genuine tears their current break;
He'll fix his hope, of fature joy secure ;

Attentire stood the mournful nymph: the man And live a slave to Hymen's bappy power.

Broke silence first: the tale alternate ran.


EXRY. SINCERE, O tell me, hast thou felt a pain, Emina, beyond what woman knows to feiga? Has thy uncertain bosom ever strove With the first tumults of a real love? Hast thou now drcaded, and now blest his sway, By turns averse, and joyful to obey? Thy virgin softness hast thou e'er bewail'd, As Reason yielded, and as Love prevail'd? And wept the potent god's resistless dart, His killing pleasure, his ecstatic smart, And heavenly poison thrilling through thy heart? If so, with pity view my wretched state; At least deplore, and then forget my fate : To some more happy knight reserve thy charnis, By Fortune favour'd, and successful arms; And only, as the Sun's revolving ray Brings back each year this melancholy day, Permit one sigh, and set apart one tear, To an abandon'd exile's endless care. For me, alas ! out-cast of human race, Love's anger only waits, and dire disgrace; For, lo! these hands in murther are imbrued; These trembling feet by Justice are pursued: Fate calls aloud, and hastens me away; A shameful death attends my longer stay; And I this night must fly from thee and love, Condemn'din lonely woods, a banish'd man, to rove.

Jet Emma's hapless case be falsely told By the rash young, or the ill-natur d old: Let every tongue its various censures choose; Absolve with coldness, or with spite accuse: Fair Truth, at last, her radiant beams will raise; And Malice vanquish'd heightens Virtue's praise. Let then thy favour but indulge my flight; 0! let my presence make thy travels light; And potent Venus shall exalt my name Above the rumours of censorious Fame; Nor from that busy demon's restless power Will ever Emma other grace implore, Than that this truth should to the world be known, That I, of all mankind, have lov'd but thee alone.


Butcanst thou wield the sword, and bend the bow? With active force repel the sturdy foe? When the loud tumult speaks the battle nigh, And winged deaths in whistling arrows fly; Wilt thou, though wounded, yet undaunted stay, Perform thy part, and share the dangerous day? Then, as thy strength decays, thy heart will fail, Thy limbs all trembling, and thy cheeks all pale; With fruitless sorrow, thou, inglorious maid, Wilt weep thy safety by thy love betray'd: Then to thy friend, by foes o'er-charg'd, deny Thy little useless aid, and coward fly: Then wilt thou curse the chance that made thee lore A banish'd man, condemn'd in lonely woods to rore,



What is our bliss, that changeth with the Moon; And day of life, that darkens ere 'tis noon? What is true passion, if unblest jt dies? And where is Emma's joy, if llenry flies? If love, alas! be pain; the pain I bear No thought can figure, and no tongue declare. Ne'er faithful woman felt, nor false one fcign'd, The flames which long have in my bosom reign'd: The god of love himself inhabits there, With all his rage, and dread, and grief, and care, His complement of stores, and total war.

0! cease then coldly to suspect my love; And let my deed at least my faith approve. Alas! no youth shall my endearments share; Nor day nor night shall interrupt my care ; No future story shall with truth upbraid The cold indifference of the Nut-brown Maid; Nor to bard banishment shall Henry run, While careless Emma sleeps on beds of down. View me resolvid, where'er thou lea:l'st, to go, Friend to thy pain, and partner of thy woe; For I attest, fair Venus and her son, That I, of all mankind, will love but thee alone.

HENRY. Let prudence yet obstruct thy venturous way; And take good heed, what men will think and say; That beauteous Einma vagrant courses took ; Her father's house and civil life forsook ; That, full of youthful blood, and fund of man, She to the wood-land with an exile ran. Renect, that lessen'd fame is ne'er regain'd, And virgin honour, once, is always stain'd: Timcly advis'd, the coming evil shun: Better not do the deed, than weep it done. No penance can absolve our guilty fame; Nor tears, that wa'h out sin, can wash out shame. Thep fly the sad effects of desperate love, And leave a banish'd man through lonely woods to


With fatal certainty Thalestris knew
To send the arrow from the twanging yew;
And, great in arms, and forcinost in the war,
Bonduca brandish'd high the British spear.
Could thirst of vengeance and desire of fame
Excite the female breast with martial flame?
And shall not lore's diviner power inspire
More hardy virtue, and more generous fire?

Near thee, inistrust not, constant I'll abide,
And fall, or vanquish, fighting by thy side.
Though my inferior strength may not allow
That I should bear or draw the warrior bow;
With ready hand I will the shaft supply,
And joy to see thy victor arrows fly.
Touch'd in the battle by the hostile reed,
Should'st thou, (but Heaven avert it!) should'st

thou bleed; To stop the wounds, my finest lawn I'd tear, Wash them with tears, and wipe them with my hair; Blest, when my dangers and my toils have shown That I, of all inankind, could love but thee alone.


But canst thou, tender maid, canst thou sustain A Mictive want, or hunger's pressing pain? Those limbs, in lawn and softest silk array'd, From sun-beams guarded, and of winds afraid, Can they bear a' gry Jove? can they resist The parching dog-star, and the bleak north-east? When, chill'd by adverse snows and beating rain, We tread with weary steps the longsome plain; When with hard toil we seek our evening food, Berries and acouns from the neighbouring wood; And find among the cliffs no other house But the thin covert of soine gather'd boughs; Wilt thou not then reluctant send thine eve Around the dreary waste, and, weeping, try

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