Which made him thus for to complain,

I ne'er will see my love again,

1

For since that she hath changed her mind,

I'll trust no more to women-kind.

I gave her ribbons for to wear,
And now and then a pair of gloves,
But she unkindly dealt by me,
And gave them to her other loves,
But now in the country will I hie,
And for to seek a new victory.

For since that she hath changed her mind,
I'll trust no more to women-kind.

Sometimes she vow'd she did me love,
And I was apt for to believe,

But all her flattering words did prove
No more than baits for to deceive,
As I do find it to my pain,

Therefore I'll ne'er believe again,

For since that she hath changed her mind,
I'll trust no more to women-kind.

I must confess that in my eye,
She was a pearl I valued high,
But what is beauty without grace,
Or one where virtue hath no place,
Her false alluring smiles no more,
Shall draw my senses out of door,

For since that she hath changed her mind,
I'll trust no more to women-kind.

I gave her heart, I gave her hand,
And all I had at her command,

She could not ask what she would have,
But presently the same I gave.

Yet all my labours prov'd in vain,

For she would not requite my pain,

Then since that she hath changed her mind,
I'll trust no more to women-kind.

When I did think her most secure,
Another did her mind allure,
And by some crafty wiles she went,
To undermine my sweet content,
So that I now repent the day,
That ere I cast my love away.

For since that she hath changed her mind,

I'll trust no more to women-kind.

But now my resolution's such,

To suffer for my loving much,
All women's company I'll shun,
For fear I further be undone,

And go where none hath power to know,

The subject of my grief and woe.

For since that she hath changed her mind,
I'll trust no more to women-kind.

And in some dark and dismal place,
There will I build myself a cave,
And in some low and barren ground,
Where none but shepherds can be found,
I'll find a place for to bewail,

My sorrows which do me assail.

For since that she hath changed her mind,
I'll trust no more to women-kind.

Some shady desart I will choose,
Which other mortals all refuse,
And on the trees her name I'll carve,
That doth from me so ill deserve,
That future ages all may know,

What love to her I once did owe.

For since that she hath changed her mind,
I'll trust no more to women-kind.

The purling streams with me shall mourn,
And leaves relenting all shall turn,

The wood nymphs who my plaints do hear,
Shall now and then afford a tear,

All blaming her for cruelty,

That brought me to this misery.

For since that she hath changed her mind,
I'll trust no more to women-kind.

And when my time is drawing nigh,
I will prepare myself to die,

The robin redbreasts kind will be,
Perhaps with leaves to cover me,
Then to the world I'll bid adieu,

And unto her that prov'd untrue,

For since that she hath chang'd her mind,
Young men beware of women-kind.

XX.

"THE STOUT CRIPPLE OF CORNWALL,

Wherein is shewed his dissolute life and deserved

death."

OF

Fa stout cripple that kept the high-way, And begg'd for his living all time of the day,

A story I'll tell you that pleasant shall be,

The Cripple of Cornwall surnamed was he.

He crept on his hands and his knees up and down, In a torn jacket and a ragged torn gown,

For he had never a leg to the knee,

The Cripple of Cornwall surnamed was he.

He was of a stomach courageous and stout,
For he had no cause to complain of the gout;
To go upon stilts most cunning was he,
With a staff on his neck most gallant to see.

Yea, no good fellowship would he forsake,
Were it in secret a horse for to take,
His stool he kept close in an old hollow tree,
That stood from the city a mile two or three.

Thus all the day long he begg'd for relief,
And all the night long he play'd the false thief,
For seven years together this custom kept he,
And no man knew him such a person to be,

There were few graziers went on the way,
But unto the cripple for passage did pay,
And every brave merchant that he did descry,
He emptied their purses ere they did pass by.

The noble Lord Courtney, both gallant and bold, Rode forth with great plenty of silver and gold, At Exeter there a purchase to pay,

But that the false Cripple the journey did stay.

For why, the false Cripple heard tidings of late,
As he sat for alms at the nobleman's gate,
This is, quoth the Cripple, a booty for me,
And I'll follow it closely, as closely may be,