heaviness
                To part with⁶ you the same:
            And sure all tho⁷ that do not so
                True lovers are they none:
            For, in my mind, of all mankind
                I love but you alone.

He.      I counsel you, Remember how
               It is no maiden’s law
            Nothing to doubt, but to run out
                To wood with an outlàaw.
            For ye must there in your hand bear
                A bow to draw;
            And as a thief thus must you live
                Ever in dread and awe;
            Whereby to you great harm might grow:
                Yet had I liever than
            That I had to the green-wood go,
                Alone, a banished man.

She.     I think not nay, but as ye say;
               It is no maiden’s lore;
            But love may make me for your sake,
                As I have said before,
            To come on foot, to hunt and shoot.
                To get us meat and store;
            For so that I your company
                May have, I ask no more.
            From which to part it maketh my heart
                As cold as any stone;
            For, in my mind, of all mankind
                I love but you alone.

He.      For an outlàw this is the law,
               That men him take and bind:
            Without pitie, hangàed to be,
                And waver with the wind.
            If I had need (as God forbede!)
                What socours could ye find?
            Forsooth I trow, you and your bow
                For fear would draw behind.
            And no mervail; for little avail
                Were in your counsel than:
            Wherefore I’ll to the green- wood go,
                Alone, a banished man.

She.      Right well know ye that women be
               But feeble for to fight;
            No womanhede it is, indeed,
                To be bold as a knight:
            Yet in such fear if that ye were
                With enemies day and night,
            I would withstand, with bow in hand,
                To grieve them as I might,
            And you to save; as women have
                From death men many one:
            For, in my mind, of all mankind
                I love but you alone.

He.      Yet take good hede; for ever I drede
               That ye could not sustain
            The thorny ways, the deep vallàeys,
                The snow, the frost, the rain,
            The cold, the heat; for dry or wete,
                We must lodge on the plain;
            And, us above, no other roof
                But a brake bush or twain:
            Which soon should grieve you, I believe:
                And ye would gladly than
            That I had to the green-wood go,
                Alone, a banished man.

She.      Sith I have here been partynere
               With you of joy and bliss,
            I must alsào part of your woe
                Endure, as reason is:
            Yet I am sure of one pleasàure,
                And shortly it is this—
            That where ye be, me seemeth, pardé,
                I could not fare amiss.
            Without more speech I you beseech
                That we were shortly gone;
            For, in my mind, of all mankind
                I love but you alone.

He.      If ye go thyder, ye must consider,
               When ye have lust to dine,
            There shall no meat be for to gete,
                Nether bere, ale, ne wine,
            Ne shetàes clean, to lie between,
                Made of thread and twine;
            None other house, but leaves and boughs,
                To cover your head and mine.
            Lo, mine heart sweet, this ill diàete
                Should make you pale and wan:
            Wherefore I’ll to the green-wood go,
                Alone, a banished man.

She.      Among the wild deer such an archàere,
               As men say that ye be,
            Ne may not fail of good vitayle
                Where is so great plentàe:
            And water clear of the rivere
                Shall be full sweet to me;
            With which in hele⁸ I shall right wele
                Endure, as ye shall see;
            And, or we go, a bed or two
                I can provide anone;
            For, in my mind, of all mankind
                I love but you alone.

He.      Lo yet, before, ye must do more,
               If ye will go with me:
            As, cut your hair up by your ear,
                Your kirtle by the knee;
            With bow in hand for to withstand
                Your enemies, if need be:
            And this same night, before daylight,
                To woodward will I flee.
            If that ye will all this fulfil,
                Do it shortly as ye can:
            Else will I to the green-wood go,
                Alone, a banished man.

She.      I shall as now do more for you
               Than ’longeth to womanhede;
            To short my hair, a bow to bear,
                To shoot in time of need.
            O my sweet mother! before all other
                For you I have most drede!
            But now, adieu! I must ensue
                Where fortune doth me lead.
            All this make ye: Now let us flee;
                The day cometh fast upon:
            For, in my mind, of all mankind
                I love but you alone.

He.      Nay, nay, not so; ye shall not go,
               And I shall tell you why—
            Your appetite is to be light
                Of love, I well espy:
            For, right as ye have said to me,
                In likewise hardily
            Ye would answere whosoever it were,
                In way of