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¶Here begynneth vndo your dore. |
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IT was a squyre of lowe degre |
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Yt loued the kynges doughter of hungre
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Yt squyre was curtes and kynd |
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Eche man hi loued and was his frende |
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He serued the kynge her fader dere |
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Fully the tyme of seuen yere |
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For he was marshall of his hall |
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And set the lordes bothe grete and small |
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An hardy man he was and wyght |
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Bothe in batayll and in fyght |
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But euer he was styll mournynge |
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And no man wyst for what thynge |
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And all was for that fayre lady |
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The kynges doughter of hungry
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There wyst no wyght in crystente |
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How well he loued that lady free |
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He loued her more than seuen yere |
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Yet was he of loue neuer the nere |
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He was not ryche of golde and fe |
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A gentylman borne for sothe was he |
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To no man durst he make his mone |
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But syghed sore hym_self alone |
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And euer_more whan he was wo |
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Into his chambre wolde he go |
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And throughe the chambre he toke the way |
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In_to a garden that was full gaye |
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And in that gardyn as I wene |
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Was an arbor fayre and grene |
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And in that arbor was a tree |
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A fayrer in the worlde myght none be |
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The tree it was of cypresse |
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The fyrste tree that Ihesu chese |
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The soeherne-wode and the sykamoure |
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The rede rose and the lely floure |
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The boxe the beche and the laurell tree |
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The date and also the damyse |
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The fylberdes hangynge to the grounde |
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The fygge-tree and the mapyll rounde |
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And other trees there were many one |
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The pyany the popeler and the playne |
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With brode bra[u]nches all aboute |
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Within the erber and eke withoute |
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On euery braunche satte byrdes thre |
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Syngynge with grete melodye |
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The laueroke and the nyghtyngale |
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The ruddocke and the woodwhale |
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The pye and t[he p]opyngaye
copytext damaged here and in two lines following
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The throstell [san]ge bothe nyght an daye |
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The martele[n an]d the wrenne also |
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The swalowe wyppynge to and fro |
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The Iaye Iangled them amonge |
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The larke began that mery songe |
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The sparowe spredde her in the spraye |
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The mauys sange with notes full gaye |
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The nothawke with her notes nuwe |
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The sterlynge set her notes full trewe |
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The goldefynche made full mery chere |
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Whan she was bente vpon a breer |
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And many other foulces mo |
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The osyll and the thrushe also |
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But leue of that stewarde here |
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And speke we more of that squyere |
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How he to his chambre wente |
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Whan he past fro that lady gente |
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There he arayed him in scarlet reed |
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And set his chapelet on his heed |
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A belte aboute his sydes two |
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With brode barres to and fro |
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A horne aboute his necke he caste |
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And forthe he wente than at the laste |
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To do his offyce in the hall |
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Amo[n]ge the lordes grete and small |
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He toke a whyte yerde in his hande |
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Before the kynge than he gan stande |
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And soone he set him on his kne |
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And serued the kynge full ryally |
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With deynte metes that were dere |
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With partryche pecocke and plouer |
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With byrdes in the brede ybake |
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The tell the ducke and the drake |
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The cocke the curlue and the crane |
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With fesauntes fayre there where no wane |
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Bothe storkes and turtes there were also |
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And venyson feesse of bucke and do |
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And other deyntes many one |
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For to sette afore the kynge anone |
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And whan the squyer had doone so |
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He serued the hall bothe to and fro |
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Eche man hym loued in honeste |
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Hye and lowe in theyr degre |
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So dyde the kynge full sodenly |
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And he wyst not wherfore nor why |
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The kynge behelde the squyer well |
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And all his reymente euery dele |
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Hym_thought he was the semelyest man |
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That euer in the worlde he sawe of than |
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Thus sate the kynge and ete ryght nought |
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But on his squyer was all his thought |
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Anone the stewarde toke good hede |
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And to the kynge full soone he yede |
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And soone he tolde vnto the kynge |
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All theyr wordes and theyr wowynge |
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And how she hyght hym lande and fe |
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Golde and syluer gete plente |
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And how she sholde his leue take |
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And become a knyght for her sake |
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And thus they talked bothe in fere |
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And I drewe me nere and nere |
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Had I not come in veryly |
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The squyer had layen her by |
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But whan he was ware of me |
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Full fast a_waye gan he fle |
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That is southe lo here is my hande |
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To fyght with hym whyles I maye stande |
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The kynge sayd to the stewarde tho |
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I maye not be_leue it sholde be so |
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Hath he be so bonayre and benynge |
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And serued me syth he was y[o]nge |
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And redy with me in euery nede |
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Bothe trewe in worde and eke in de[d]e
dede] deee 1560
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I maye not leue by nyght nor daye |
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My doughter dere he wyll betraye |
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Nor not to come her chambre nye |
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That fode to fonde with no folye |
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Toughe she wolde to hym consente |
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That louely lady fayre and gente |
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I trowe hym so well withouten drede |
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That he wolde neuer do that dede |
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But yf he myght that lady wynne |
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In weddelocke to welde withouten synne |
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And yf she wyll assente hym tyll |
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That squyere is worthy to haue none yll |
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For I haue seen that many a page |
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Haue become men by maryage |
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Then it is semly to that squyer |
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To haue my doughter by this manere |
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And eche man in his degree |
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Become a lorde of ryaltee |
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By fortune and by other grace |
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By herytage and by purchase |
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Ther_fore stewa[r]de beware here_by
stewarde] stewade 1560
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Dyffame hym not for none enuy |
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It were grete ruthe he sholde be spylte |
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Or put to dethe withouten gylte |
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And more reuth of my doughter dere |
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For chaungynge of that ladyes chere |
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I wolde not for my crowne so newe |
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That lady chaunged hyde or hewe |
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Or for to put thy solle in drede |
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But thou myght take theym with that dede |
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For yf it maye be founde in the |
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That thou them fame for enuyte |
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Thou shalte be taken as a felon |
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And put full depe in my pryson |
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And fetered fast vnto a stone |
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Tyll xii. yeres be comen and gone |
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And drawen with hors throught this cyte |
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And soone hanged vpon a tree |
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And yf thou may thy_selfe excuse |
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This dede thou shalte no waye refuse |
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And therfore Steward take good hede |
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How thou wylte answere to this dede |
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The stewarde answered with grete enuy |
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That I haue sayd I wyll stande therby |
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To suffre dethe and endlesse wo |
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Syr kynge I wyll neuer go therfro |
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For yf that ye wyll graunt me here |
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Strength of men and grete powere |
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I shall hym take this same nyght |
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In chambre with your doughter bryght |
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For I shall neuer be gladde of chere |
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Tyll I be venged of that squyere |
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Than sayd the kynge full curteysly |
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Unto the stewarde that stode hym by |
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Thou shalte haue strength ynough with the |
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Men of arm[e]s .xxx. and thre
armes] armrs 1560
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To watche that lady moche of pryce |
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And her to kepe frome her enmyes |
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For there is no knyght in crystente |
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That wolde betraye that lady fre
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