Farre in the countrey of _Arden_ There wond a knight hight _Cassemen_, as bolde as _Isenbras_: Fell was he and eger bent, In battell and in Tournament, as was the good sir _Topas_. He had as antique stories tell, A daughter cleaped _Dowsabell_, a mayden fayre and free: And for she was her fathers heire, 10 Full well she was ycond the leyre, of mickle curtesie. The silke wel couth she twist and twine, And make the fine Marchpine, and with the needle werke, And she couth helpe the priest to say His Mattens on a holyday, and sing a Psalme in Kirke. She ware a frocke of frolicke greene, Might well beseeme a mayden Queene, 20 which seemly was to see. A hood to that so neat and fine, In colour like the colombine, ywrought full featously. Her feature all as fresh aboue, As is the grasse that grows by Doue, as lyth as lasse of Kent: Her skin as soft as Lemster wooll, As white as snow on peakish hull, or Swanne that swims in Trent. 30 This mayden in a morne betime, Went forth when May was in her prime, to get sweet Cetywall, The hony-suckle, the Harlocke, The Lilly and the Lady-smocke, to decke her summer hall. Thus as she wandred here and there, Ypicking of the bloomed Breere, she chanced to espie A shepheard sitting on a bancke, 40 Like _Chanteclere_ he crowed crancke, and pip'd with merrie glee: He leard his sheepe as he him list, When he would whistle in his fist, to feede about him round: Whilst he full many a caroll sung, Vntill the fields and medowes rung, and that the woods did sound: In fauour this same shepheards swayne, Was like the bedlam _Tamburlayne_, 50 which helde prowd Kings in awe: But meeke he was as Lamb mought be, Ylike that gentle _Abel_ he, whom his lewd brother slaw. This shepheard ware a sheepe gray cloke, Which was of the finest loke, that could be cut with sheere, His mittens were of Bauzens skinne, His cockers were of Cordiwin his hood of Meniueere. 60 His aule and lingell in a thong, His tar-boxe on his broad belt hong, his breech of Coyntrie blew: Full crispe and curled were his lockes, His browes as white as _Albion_ rockes, so like a louer true. And pyping still he spent the day, So mery as the Popingay: which liked _Dowsabell_, That would she ought or would she nought, 70 This lad would neuer from her thought: she in loue-longing fell, At length she tucked vp her frocke, White as the Lilly was her smocke, she drew the shepheard nie,