"Theis tidingis be more glad to me 325 Than to be made a quene, Yf I were sure they shuld endure; But it is often seen, When men wyl breke promyse, they speke The wordis on the splene. 330 Ye shape some wyle me to begyle, And stele fro me, I wene; Then were the case wurs than it was, And I more woo-begone; For in my mynde, of all mankynde 335 I love but you alone." "Ye shal not nede further to drede: I wyl not disparage You, God defende! sith you descende Of so grete a lynage. 340 Nou understonde, to Westmerlande, Which is my herytage, I wyl you bringe, and wyth a rynge, Be wey of maryage, I wyl you take, and lady make, 345 As shortly as I can: Thus have ye wone an erles son, And not a banysshyd man." Here may ye see, that wymen be In love meke, kinde, and stable: 350 Late never man repreve them than, Or calle them variable; But rather prey God that we may To them be comfortable, Whiche somtyme provyth suche as loveth, 355 Yf they be charitable. For sith men wolde that wymen sholde Be meke to them echeon, Moche more ought they to God obey, And serve but hym alone. 360 9, to. 28, they. 30, Soe. 35, cause. 50. Wherfore. v. 98, Whan. v. 152, Shul. 200, bed, Wright. v. 230, That, womanhod. 238, cum. v. 253, yet is. v. 310, Of them I wolde be one. Percy MS. THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON. From _Reliques of Ancient English Poetry_, iii. 177. Another copy is in Ritson's _Ancient Songs_, ii. 134. "From an ancient black-letter copy in the Pepys collection, with some improvements communicated by a lady as she had heard the same recited in her youth. The full title is, _True love requited: Or, the Bailiff's daughter of Islington_."--PERCY. There was a youthe, and a well-beloved youthe, And he was a squires son: He loved the bayliffes daughter deare, That lived in Islington. Yet she was coye, and would not believe 5 That he did love her soe, Noe nor at any time would she Any countenance to him showe. But when his friendes did understand His fond and foolish minde, 10 They sent him up to faire London, An apprentice for to binde. And when he had been seven long yeares, And never his love could see,-- "Many a teare have I shed for her sake, 15 When she little thought of mee."