Though it be songe of olde and yonge that I shuld be to blame,
Theirs be the charge that speke so large in hurting of my name.
For I wyl prove that feythful love it is devoyd of shame,
In your distresse and hevynesse to parte with you the same;
And sure all thoo that doo not so trewe lovers ar they noon;
But in my mynde of all mankynde I love but you alone.

I councel yow remembre how it is noo maydens lawe
Nothing to dought, but to renne out to wod with an outlawe.
For ye must there in your hande bere a bowe to bere and drawe,
And as a theef thus must ye lyeve ever in drede and awe;
By whiche to yow gret harme myght grow: yet had I lever than
That I had too the grene wod goo alone a banysshyd man.

I thinke not nay; but, as ye saye, it is noo mayden's lore.
But love may make me for your sake, as ye have said before,
To com on fote to hunte and shote to gete us mete and store;
For soo that I your company may have I aske noo more;
From whiche to parte it makith myn herte as colde as ony ston,
For in my mynde of all mankynde I love but you alone.

For an outlawe this is the lawe that men hym take and binde
Without pytee hanged to bee, and waver with the wynde.
Yf I had neede, as God forbede, what rescous coude ye finde;
For, sothe, I trowe, you and your bowe shul' drawe for fere behynde;
And noo merveyle; for lytel avayle were in your councel than,
Wherfore I too the woode wyl goo alone a banysshd man.

Ful wel knowe ye that wymen bee ful febyl for to fyght;

Noo womanhed is it indeede to bee bolde as a Knight;

Yet in suche fere yf that ye were amonge enemys day and night,
I wolde wythstonde with bowe in hande to greeve them as I myght,
And you to save, as wymen have, from deth many one :
For in my mynde of all mankynde I love but you alone.

Yet take good hede; for ever I drede that ye coude not sustein
The thorney wayes, the depe valeis, the snowe, the frost, the reyn,
The colde the hete; for, drye or wete, we must lodge on the playn;
And us a bovve noon other rove but a brake bussh or twayne;
Whiche sone shulde greve you I beleve; and ye wolde gladly than
That I had too the grenewode goo alone a banysshyd man:

Syth I have here ben partynere with you of joy and blysse,
I must also parte of your woo endure, as reason is;

Yet am I sure of on plesure, and shortly, it is this,

That where ye bee, meseemeth perde, I coude not fare amysse.
Wythout more speche I you beseche that we were soon a gone;
For in my mynde of all mankynde love but you alone.

Yf ye goo thedyr, ye must consider, whan ye have lust to dyne,
Ther shel no mete be fore to gete, nor drinke, bere, ale, ne wine;
Ne shetis clene to lye betwene, made of thred and twyne :
Noon other house but levys and bowes to kever your hed and myn.
Loo, myn herte swete, this ylle dyet shuld make you pale and wan.
Wherfore I to the wood wyl goo alone a banysshid man.

Amonge the wylde dere suche an archier, as men say that ye bee
Ne may not fayle of good vitayle, where is so grete plente,
And water cleere of the ryvere shal be ful swete to me,
Wyth whiche in hele I shal right wele endure as ye shall see :
And er we goo a bed or twoo I can provide anoon,

For in my mynde of all mankynde I love but you alone.

Loo yet before ye must doo more yf ye wyl goo with me,
As cutte your here up by your ere; your kirtel by the knee,
Wyth bowe in hande for to withstonde your enemys yf nede be;
And this same nyght before daylyght to woodward wyl I flee;
And ye will all this fulfylle, doo it shortely as ye can:
Ellis wil I to the grene wode goo alone a banysshyd man.

I shal as now do more for you that longeth to womanhod,
To short my here, a bowe to bere, to shote in tyme of nede:
O my swete moder, before all other, for you have I most drede :
But now adiew; I must ensue, wher fortune duth me leede.
All this make ye; now lete us flee; the day cum fast upon;
For in my mynde of all mankynde I love but you alone.

Nay, nay, not soo; ye shal not goo; and I shal telle you why,
Your appetyte is to be lyght of love, I wele aspie;

For right as ye have sayd to me, in lyke wyse hardely
Ye wolde answere, who so ever it were, in way of company.
It is sayd of olde, sone hote sone colde; and so is a woman.
Wherfore I too the woode wyl goo alone a banysshid man.

Yef ye take hede, yet is noo nede suche wordes to say bee me;
For ofte ye preyd, and longe assayed, or I you lovid perdee;
And though that I of auncestry a baron's doughter bee,

Yet have you proved how I you loved, a squyer of lowe degree,
And ever shal, what so befalle; to dey therfore anoon;
For in my mynde of al mankynde I love but you alone.

A Baron's childe to be begyled, it were a curssed dede ;
To be felow with an outlawe Almyghty God forbede:
Yet bettyr were the power squyer alone to forest yede,
Than ye shal saye another day that be wyked dede

Ye were betrayed; wherfore good maide, the best red ye I can,
Is that I too the greene wode goo alone a banysshed man.

Whatsoever befalle, I never shal of this thing you upbraid;
But yf ye goo, and leve me soo, than have ye me betraied.
Remembre you wele, how that ye dele, for yf ye, as the sayde,
Be so unkynde to leve behynde your love the notbrowne maide,
Trust me truly, that I dey, sone after ye be gone,

For in my mynde of all mankynde I love but. you alone.

Yef that ye went, ye shulde repent, for in the forest now

I have purveid me of a maide, whom I love more than you.
Another fayrer than ever ye were; I dare it wel avowe;
And of you bothe eche shulde be wrothe with other as I trowe.
It were myn ease to lyve in pease; so wyl I yf I can ;
Wherfore I to the wode wyl goo alone a banysshid man.

Though in the wood I understode ye had a paramour,

All this may nought remeve my thought; bat that I wil be your;
And she shal fynde me softe and kynde, and curteis every our,
Glad to fulfylle all that she wylle commaunde me to my power;
For had ye, loo, an hondred moo, yet wolde I be that one.
For in my mynde of all mankynde I love but you alone.

Myn owne dere love, I see the prove, that ye be kynde and trewe;
Of mayde and wyf, in all my lyf, the best that ever I knewe.
Be mery and glad; be no more sad; the case is chaunged newe;
For it were ruthe that for your trouth you shuld have cause to rewe.
Be not dismayed; whatsoever I sayd to you whan I began,

I wyl not too the grene wod goo; I am noo banysshyd man.

Theis tidingis be more glad to me 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.
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 I love but you alone.

Ye shal not nede further to drede: I wyl not dispage,
You God defende; sith you descende, of so grete a lynage,
Now understonde, to Westmerlande, whiche is my herytage,
I wyl you bringe, and wyth arynge, be wey of maryage,
I wyl you take, and lady make, 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.
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, 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."

ART. III. Richard Hampool's Devoute Medytacyon in sayenge devoutly the Psalter of our Lady, with diuers ensamples. Emprynted at London, in Flete strete at the signe of the Sonne, by Wynkyn de Worde, MCCCCCVII, the furthe daye of Febru

arie.

THIS volume did not appear to have any regular title-page. The above is a correct + copy of the

* Qu? disparage?

†The circumstance of having by chance corrected the catalogue by the original, will account for its varying both from that and the hand-bill afterwards distributed. The work does not appear to be mentioned by Herbert.

head title (a mode occasionally found adopted by the early printers) which immediately preceded the prayers. It was a quarto printed on vellum, in black letter, and formed an article in the catalogue of the library of the late Mr. Voight; but on the morning of sale it was not to be found. Several instances of similar depredation have occurred lately at different auction rooms. In the present instance, harsh as the allegation may appear, yet the craving of a blackletter appetite can alone be suspected. So little was known of its real value, that had it been taken by one of Newgate notoriety, he would scarcely have found a pawnbroker to give it hoarding room with the advance of a crown; and if offered, to a bookseller, was there one in the metropolis, who would appreciate its value above waste, but knew of so singular an article being exhibited for public sale, or has since seen the hand-bill distributed from Bowstreet? If it was taken by a mercenary purloiner, a hunting jackall of the more indolent and wealthy collector, this registry may yet be the means of tracing it to its present lodgment, and induce a restoration; if the possessor reflects, neither Russian surtout nor Morocco mantle will be sufficient disguise to parry recollection within the memory of man. Its singular rarity renders it perhaps matchless, and in what manner can it hereafter appear without condemning the possessor? Unless it is intended to form an inchoated article in the Bibliotheca Purloiniana, it must be kept more sacred than a cabinet curiosity, unknown, unseen, or the publicity of the theft may lead to a discovery. Where is the opportunity for ostentatious display, too often the parsimonious gra