111.1 Throughe a forest as I can ryde, To take my sporte yn an mornyng, I cast my eye on euery syde, I was ware of a bryde syngynge. 111.2 I sawe a faire mayde come rydyng; I speake to hur of loue, I trowe; She answered me all yn scornyng, And sayd, The crowe shall byte yow. 111.3 I pray yow, damesell, scorne me nott; To wyn your loue ytt ys my wyll; For your loue I haue dere bought, And I wyll take good hede thertyll. 111.4 Nay, for God, ser, that I nyll; I tell the, Jenken, as I trowe, Thou shalt nott fynde me suche a gyll; Therfore the crowe shall byte yow. 111.5 He toke then owt a good golde ryng, A purse of velweytt, that was soo fyne: Haue ye thys, my dere swetyng, With that ye wylbe lemman myn. 111.6 Be Cryst, I dare nott, for my dame, To dele with hym that I doo nott knowe; For soo I myght dyspyse my name; Therfore the crow shall byte yow. 111.7 He toke hur abowte the mydell small, That was soo faire of hyde and hewe; He kyssed hur cheke as whyte as whall, And prayed hur that she wolde vpon hym rewe. 111.8 She scornyd hym, and callyd hym Hew; His loue was as a paynted blowe: To-day me, to-morrowe a newe; Therfore the crow shall byte yow. 111.9 He toke hur abowte the mydell small, And layd hur downe vpon the grene; Twys or thrys he served hur soo withall, He wolde nott stynt yet, as I wene. 111.10 But sythe ye haue i-lyen me bye, Ye wyll wedde me now, as I trowe: I wyll be aduysed, Gyll, sayd he, For now the pye hathe peckyd yow. 111.11 But sythe ye haue i-leyn me by, And brought my body vnto shame, Some of your good ye wyll part with me, Or elles, be Cryst, ye be to blame. 111.12 I wylbe aduysed, he sayde; THe wynde ys wast that thow doyst blowe; I haue a-noder that most be payde; Therfore the pye hathe pecked yow. 111.13 Now sythe ye haue i-leyn me bye, A lyttle thyng ye wyll tell; In case that I with chylde be, What ys your name? Wher doo ye dwell? 111.14 At Yorke, at London, at Clerkenwell, At Leycester, Cambryge, at myrye Brystowe; Some call me Rychard, Robart, Jacke, and Wyll; For now the pye hathe peckyd yow. 111.15 But, all medons, be ware be rewe, And lett no man downe yow throwe; For and yow doo, ye wyll ytt rewe, For then the pye wyll pecke yow. 111.16 Farewell, corteor, ouer the medoo, Pluke vp your helys, I yow beshrew! Your trace, wher so euer ye ryde or goo, Crystes curse goo wythe yow! 111.17 Thoughe a knave hathe by me layne, Yet am I noder dede nor slowe; I trust to recouer my harte agayne, And Crystes curse goo wythe yow!