I have a cloak of scarlet red, Upon the ground I'll throwe it; Then, lady faire, come lay thy head; We'll play, and none shall knowe it. O yonder stands my steed so free And if the pinner should chance to see, Upon my finger I have a ring, O go with me to my father's hall; And I'll your chamberlaine bee, sir. He mounted himself on his steed so tall, To her father's hall they arrived strait; Here is a silver penny to spend, And take it for your pain, sir; He from his scabbard drew his brand, She drew a bodkin from her haire, And wip'd it upon her gown-a; And curs'd be every maiden faire, That will with men lye down-a! A herb there is, that lowly grows, A flower there is, that shineth bright, He that wold not when he might, The knight was riding another day, Now, lady faire, I've met with you, He from his saddle down did light, And cryed, As I'm a noble knight, He took the lady by the hand, And would no more disputing stand: Looke yonder, good sir knight, I pray, A riding upon his dapple gray, On tip-toe peering stood the knight, O'er head and ears he plunged in, Then rising up, he cried amain, Help, helpe, or else I'm drownded! Now, fare-you-well, sir knight, adieu! Ere many days, in her fathers park, Again she met with her angry sparke; False lady, here thou 'rt in my powre, I pray, sir knight, be not so warm A gentle jest, in soothe he cry'd, To tumble me in and leave mel What if I had in the river dy'd? That fetch will not deceive me. Once more I'll pardon thee this day, Well then, if I must grant your suit, Yet think of your boots and spurs, sir: He set him down upon the grass, Then pulling off his boots half-way; Sir knight, now I'm your betters : You shall not make of me your prey; Sit there like a knave in fetters. The knight, when she had served him soe, He fretted, fum'd, and grumbled: For he could neither stand nor goe, Farewell, sir knight, the clock strikes ten, I'll send you my father's serving men, This merry jest you must excuse, You are but a stingless nettle: You'd never have stood for boots or shoes, Had you been a man of mettle. All night in grievous rage he lay, Rolling upon the plain-a; Next morning a shepherd past that way, Who set him right again-a. Then mounting upon his steed so tall, I'll take her father by the beard, He rode unto her father's house, Which every side was moated: The lady heard his furious vows, And all his vengeance noted. Thought shee, sir knight, to quench your rage Once more I will endeavour: This water shall your fury 'swage, Or else it shall burn for ever. Then faining penitence and feare, Sir knight, if you'll forgive me heare, My father he is now from home, False maid, thou canst no more deceive; If thou would'st have me thee believe, The bridge is drawn, the gate is barr'd, Over the moate I've laid a plank These words she had no sooner spoke, TRUTH AND FALSEHOOD. A TALE. MATTHEW PRIOR. ONCE on a time, in sunshine weather, Through many a blooming mead they passed, The purling stream, the margin green, Invited each itinerant maid, To rest a while beneath the shade. |