By lure then in finest sort, He seeks to bring her in; But if that she full gorged be, Although with becks, and bending eyes She many proffers makes, Wo ho! he cries, away she flies, And so her leave she takes. 1 This woful man with weary limbs His heart was glad his eyes had seen Wo ho! he cries, she empty gorged How glad was then the falconer there, No pen nor tongue can tell, He swam in bliss, that lately felt Like pains of cruel hell. His hand sometimes upon her train, Wo ho! he cries, with cheerful voice, His heart was now at rest. My dear, likewise behold thy love, A hood of silk and silver bells, LXXXI. "A MERY BALLET OF THE HATHORNE TRE." It was a maid of my country As she came by a hawthorn tree, At last she asked of this tree, The tree made answer by and by, I have good cause to grow triumphantly, Yea, quoth the maid, but where you grow, You stand at hand for every blow, Of every man for to be seen, I marvel that you grow so green. Though many one take flowers from me, But how, and they chance to cut thee down, Though that you do, it is no boot, And you, fair maid, cannot do so, As I with my branches can grow green. The maid with that began to blush,, When that she heard this marvellous doubt, With many a sigh she went her way, Besides all that, it put her in fear, For fear to lose the thing that should be seen, But after this, never I could hear LXXXII. THE WOODMAN'S WALK. THROUGH a fair forest as I went I met a woodman quaint and gent, I marvell'd much at his disguise, But thus in terms both grave and wise, Friend, muse not at this fond array, But list a while to me, For it hath holped me to survey, Long liv'd I in this forest fair, |