In the dayes of old,
When raire France did flourish,
Storyes plaine have told
Lovers felt annoye.
The queene a daughter bare,
Whom beautye's queen did nourish;
She was lovelye faire,
She was her father's joye.

A prince of England came,
Whose deeds did merit fame,
But he was exil'd and outcast;
Love his soul did fire,
Shee granted his desire,
Their hearts in one were linked fast.
Which when her father proved,
Sorelye he was moved
And tormented in his minde.
He sought for to prevent them,
And, to discontent them, —
Fortune cross'd these lovers kinde.

When these princes twaine
Were thus barr'd of pleasure,
Through the kings disdaine,
Which their joyes withstoode,
The lady soone prepar'd
Her jewells and her treasure,
Having no regard
For state and royall bloode.
In homelye poore array
She went from court away,
To meet her joye and hearts delight;
Who in a forrest great
Had taken up his seat,
To wayt her coming in the night.
But, lo! what sudden danger,
To this princely stranger,
Chanced as he sate alone!
By outlawes he was robbed,
And with ponyards stabbed,
Uttering many a dying grone.

The princesse, arm'd by love,
And by chaste desire,
All the night did rove
Without dread at all,
Still unknowne, she past
In her strange attire,
Coming at the last
Within echoes call.—
'You faire woods,' quoth shee,
'Honoured may you bee,
Harbouring my heart's delight,
Which encompasses here
My joye and only deare,
My trustye friend, and comelye knight.
Sweete, I come unto thee,
Sweete, I come to woo thee
That thou mayst not angry bee
For thy curteous staying
Soone amenes Ile make to thee.'

Passing thus alone
Through the silent forest,
Many a grievous grone
Sounded in her eares;
She heard one complayne
And lament the sorest,
Seeming all in payne,
Shedding deadly teares.
'Farewell, my deare,' quoth hee,
'Whom I must never see,
For why, my life is att an end
Through villaines crueltye;
For thy sweet sake I dye,
To show I am a faithfull friend.
Here I lye a bleeding,
While my thoughts are feeding
On the rarest beautye found.
O harp happ that may be!
Little knowes my ladye
My heartes-blood lyes on the ground.'

With that a grone he sends
Which did burst in sunder
All the tender hands
Of his gentle heart.
She, who knewe his voice,
At his wordes did wonder;
All her former joyes
Did to griefe convert.
Strait she ran to see
Who this man shold bee,
That soe like her love did seeme;
Her lovely lord she found
Lye slaine upon the ground,
Smear'd with gore a ghastlye streame.
Which his lady spying,
Shrieking, fainting, crying,
Her sorrows could not uttered bee;
'Fate,' she cryed, 'too cruell!
For thee — my dearest jewell,
Would God! that I had dyed for thee.'

His pale lippes, alas!
Twentye times she kissed,
And his face did wash
With her trickling teares;
Every gaping wound
Tenderlye she pressed,
And did wipe it round
With her golden haires.
'Speake, fair love,' quoth shee,
'Speake, faire prince, to mee;
One sweete word of comfort give;
Lift up thy deare eyes,
Listen to my cryes,
Thinke in what sad griefe I live.'
All in vaine she sued,
All in vaine she wooed,
The prince's life was fled and gone;
There stood she still mourning
Till the suns retourning,
And bright day was coming on.

In this great distresse
Weeping, wayling ever,
Oft shee cryed, alas!
'What will become of mee?
To my fathers court
I returne will never,
But in lowlye sort
I will a servant bee.'
While thus she made her mone,
Weeping all alone,
In this deepe and deadlye feare:
A fors'ter all in greene,
Most comelye to be seene,
Ranging the woods did find her there.
Moved with her sorrowe,
'Maid,' quoth hee, 'good morrowe,
What hard happ has brought thee here?'
'Harder happ did never
Two kinde hearts dissever;
Here lies slaine my brother deare.

'Where may I remaine,
Gentle for'ster, shew me,
'Till I can obtaine
A service in my neede?
Paines I will not spare;
This kinde favour doe mee,
It will ease my care;
Heaven shall by thy meede.'
The for'ster all amazed,
On her beautye gazed,
Till his heart was set on fire:
'If, faire maid,' quoth hee,
'You will goe with mee,
You shall have your hearts desire.'
He brought her to his mother,
And above all other
He sett forth this maidens praise.
Long was his heart inflamed,
At length her love he gained,
And fortune crown'd his future dayes.

Thus unknowne he wedde
With a kings faire daughter;
Children seven they had,
Ere she told her birth,
Which when once he knew,
Humblye he besought her,
He to the world might shew
Her rank and princelye worth.
He cloath'd his children then,
(Not like other men)
In partye-colours strange to see;
The right side cloth of gold,
The left side to behold
Of woollen cloth still framed hee.
Men thereatt did wonder,
Golden fame did thunder
This strange deede in every place;
The King of France came thither,
It being pleasant weather,
In those woods the hart to chase.

The children then they bring,
So their mother will'd it,
Where the royall king
Must of force come bye.
Their mothers riche array
Was of crimson velvet;
Their fathers all of gray,
Seemelye to the eye.
Then this famous king,
Noting every thing,
Askt how he durst be so bold
To let his wife woe weare,
And decke his children there
In costly robes of pearl and gold.
The forrester replying,
And the cause descrying,
To the king these words did say,
'Well may they, by their mother,
Weare rich clothes with other,
Being by birth a princesse gay.'

The king aroused thus,
More headfullye beheld them,
Till a crimson blush
His remembrance crost.
'The more I fix my mind
On thy wife and children,
The more methinks I find
The daugter which I lost.'
Falling on her knee,
'I am that child,' quoth shee,
'Pardon mee, my soveraine liege!'
The king perceiving this
His daughter deare did kiss,
While joyfull teares did stopp his speeche.
With this traine he tourned,
And with them sojourned;
Strait he dubb'd her husband knight;
Then make him Erle of Flanders,
And chiefe of his commanders;—
Thus were their sorrowes put to flight.