And of mercy hath every man such need, That razing that, farewel the joy of man! And of her power, now takith right good heed! She mercy may well and purchasen can. Depleasith her not! Honoureth that woman! And other women honour for her sake! And but ye do, your sorrow shall awake! In any book also, where can ye find That of the workis, or the death or life, Of JESU spelleth or maketh any mind, That women Him forsook, for woe or strife? Where was there any wight so ententife Abouten Him as woman? Proved none! The Apostles him forsooken everichone. Woman forsook him not! For all the faith Of holy church in woman left only! These are no lies, for Holy Writ thus saith, Look! and ye shall so find it hardily! And therefore I may well proven thereby That in woman reigneth stable constancy; And in men is change and variancy. Thou Precious Gem of martyrs, Margarite! That of thy blood dreadest none effusion! Thou Lover true! Thou Maiden mansuete! Thou, constant Woman! in thy passion Overcame the Fiendis temptation! And many a wight convertid thy doctrine, Unto the faith of God, holy Virgin! But, understandeth this! I commend her nought, By encheson of her virginity. Trusteth, it came never into thought! For ever werry against Chastity. And ever shall. But, lo, this moveth me, Her loving heart and constant to her lay Drove out of my remembrance I ne may. Now holdith this for firm, and for no lie! That this true and just commendation Of women tell I for no flattery; Nor because of pride or elation: But only, lo! for this intention To give them courage of perseverance In virtue, and their honour to advance. The more the virtue, the less is the pride. Virtue so digne is, and so noble in kind, That Vice and he will not in fere abide. He putteth vices clean out of his mind, He flyeth from them, he leaveth them behind. O, Woman! that of Virtue, art hostess; Great is thy honour, and thy worthiness! Then will I thus concluden and define. We, you command! our ministers each one That ready ye be our hestes to incline! That of these false men, our rebell foon, Ye do punishement! and that, anon! Void them our Court! and banish them for ever! So that therein more comen may they never! Fulfilled be it! Ceasing all delay, Look that there be none excusation! Written in the air, the lusty month of May, In our Palace, where many a million Of lovers true, have habitation; In the year of grace, joyful and jocond, A thousand and four hundred and second. _Thus endeth The letter of CUPID._ _The Ballad of ROBIN HOOD._ The first printed edition by WYNKYN DE WORDE, about 1510.