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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 resuse,
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

a 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.

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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 hold,
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,

Then to his companions the matter he mov’d,
Which their false actions before had prov’d,
They make themselves ready and deeply they swear,
The money's their own before they come there.

Upon his two stilts the Cripple did mount,
To have the best share it was his full account,
All cloathed in canvas down to the ground,
He took up his place his mates with him round.

Then came the Lord Courtney with half a score men,
Yet little suspecting these thieves in their den,
And they perceiving them come to their hand,
In a dark evening bid them to stand.

Deliver thy purse, quoth the Cripple, with speed,
We be good fellows and therefore have need,
Not so, quoth Lord Courtney, but this I'll tell ye,
Win it and wear it, else get none of me.

With that the Lord Courtney stood in his defence,
And so did his servants, but ere they went hence,
Two of the true men were slain in this fight,
And four of the thieves were put to the flight.

And while for their safeguard they run thus away,
The jolly bold Cripple did hold them in play,
And with his pike-staff he wounded them so,
As they were unable to run or to go.

With fighting the Lord Courtney was out of breath,
und most of his servants were wounded to death,
Then came other horsemen riding so fast,
The Cripple was forced to fly at the last.

And orer a river that run there beside,
Which was very deep, and eighteen foot wide,
With his long staff and his stilts leaped he,
And shifted himself in an old hollow tree.

Then throughout the city was hue and cry made,
To have these thieves apprehended and staid,
The Cripple he ereeps on his hands and his knees,
And in the high-way great passing he sees.

And as they came riding he begging doth say,
O give me one penny, good masters, I pray,
And thus unto Exeter creeps he along,
No man suspecting that he had done wrong,

Anon the Lord Courtney he spies in the street,
He comes unto him and kisses his feet,
God save your honor and keep you from ill,
And from the hands of your enemies still.

Amen, quoth Lord Courtney, and therewith threw down
l'nto the poor Cripple an English crown,
Away went the Cripple, and thus he did think,
Mive hundred pounds more will make me to drink.

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