THE NUT-BROWN MAY D. To this ballad, printed about the year 1502 in " Arnold's Chronicle," may be fairly assigned a date at least one hundred years earlier. A strong proof of its popularity in the sixteenth century, is the existence of a book in black-letter, wherein the Passion of Christ is arranged to the air of this ballad, the words being parodied after a fashion much in vogue at that time. It was then believed, as it is still occasionally, that religious instruction might be conveyed under the prestige of a popular song: "Thus endeth the boke of the newe not browne mayd vpon the passion of Cryste."-The " Muses' Mercury" introduced the Nut-Brown Mayd to comparatively modern readers in 1707. It is therein given as three hundred years old; and there Prior met with it, and took it as the ground work of his poem, "Henry and Emma." If we find no novelty in an earl's son wooing and winning a lady of high degree, under the disguise of a squire or an outlaw, it should be borne in mind, that we are probably going back to the fountain head, whence many similar fancies have been drawn ; and that, though familiar with imitations, the original is scarcely known to us. Be it right, or wrong, these men among On women to complayne, Affermyng this, how that it is A labour spent in vayne, To love them wele; for never a dele They love a man agayne: For lete a man do what he can, Theyr favour to attayne, Yet, yf a newe do them persue, Theyr first true lover than Laboureth for nought: and from her thought I say not nay, but that all day It is bothe writ and sayde, That womans faith is, as who sayth, All utterly decayde; But neverthelesse, ryght good wytnèsse That they love trewe, and contynew: Recorde the Nut-brown Mayd: Which, from her love, (when, her to prove, She loved but hym alone. Than, betweine us, lete us discusse What was all the manere Betwene them two: we wyll also] Tell all the payne, and fere, That she was in. Now I begyn, So that ye me answère; I pray you, gyve an eare: I am the knyght; I come by nyght, Sayinge, Alas! thus standeth the case, 'And I your wyll for to fulfyll In this wyll not refuse; Trustyinge to shewe, in wordès few, (To theyr own shame) women to blame, All women to excuse, My owne hart dere, with you what chere? For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 'It standeth so; a dede is do, A shamefull deth, I trowe; C Wherfore, adue, my owne hart true! For I must to the grene wode go, O Lord, what is thys worldys blysse, That changeth as the mone! My somers day in lusty may Is derked before the none. I here you say, farewell: nay, nay, Alas! what have ye done? 'I can beleve, it shall you greve, And somewhat you dystrayne; But, aftyrwarde, your paynes harde Within a day or twayne Shall sone aslake; and ye shall take Comfort to you agayne. And that ye myght from your delyght No lenger make delay. Rather than ye sholde thus for me Be called an yll womàn, Yet wolde I to the grene wode go, Alone, a banyshed man.' 'Though it be songe of old and yonge, In your dystresse, and hevynesse, To part with you the same: True lovers are they none; 'I counceyle you, remember howe, It is no maydens lawe, Nothynge to dout, but to renne out, To wode with an outlàwe: Why sholde ye nought? for, to make thought, For ye must there in your hand bere Your labour were in vayne. And thus I do; and pray you to, A bowe, redy to drawe; And, as a thefe, thus must you lyve, Ever in drede and awe; Wherby to you grete barme myght growe;' Yet had I lever than, That I had to the grene wode go, Alone, a banyshed man.' I thinke not nay, but as ye say, But love may make me for your sake, To come on fote, to hunt, and shote For so that I your company May have, I aske no more: From which to part, it maketh my hart For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 'For an outlawe this is the lawe, That men hym take and bynde ; Without pytee, hanged to be, And waver with the wynde. · Nay, nay, not so; ye shall not go, And I shall tell ye why, Your appetyght is to be lyght Of love, I wele espy: For, lyke as ye have sayed to me, In lyke wyse hardely Ye wolde answère whosoever it were, It is sayd of olde, Sone hote, sone colde; Wherefore I to the wode wyll go, . Yf Alone, a banyshed man.' ye take hede, yett is no nede Such wordes to say by me; For oft ye prayed, and longe assayed, And though that I of auncestry A barons daughter be, Yet have you proved howe I you loved, A squyer of lowe degre; And ever shall, whatso befall; To ye therefore anone; For, in my mynde, of all mankynde A barons chylde to be begylde! Almighty God forbede! Yet beter were, the pore squyère Alone to forest yede, Than ye sholde say another day, That, by my wycked dede, Ye were betrayed: wherfore, good mayd, Is, that I to the grene wode go, 'Whatever befall, I never shall Of this thyng you upbrayd: But yf ye go, and leve me so, Than have ye me betrayed. Remember wele, howe that ye dele; For, yf ye, as ye sayd, Be so unkynde, to leve behynde, Your love, the Nut-brown Mayd, Trust me truly, that I shall dy Sone after ye be gone; For, in my mynde, of all mankynd I love but you alone.' "Yf that ye went, ye sholde repent; I have purvayed me of a mayd, And of you bothe eche sholde le wrothe It were myne ese, to lyve in pese ; Wherfore I to the wode wyll go, Alone, a banyshed man.' Though in the wode I undyrstode Ye had a paramour, All this may nought remove my thought, And she shall fynde me soft, and kynde Commaunde me to my power: 'Myne owne dere love, I se the prove The best that ever I knewe. I wyll not to the grene wode go; 'These tydings be more gladd to me, Whan men wyll breke promyse, they speke The wordès on the splene. Ye shape some wyle me to begyle, And stele from me, I wene: |