The princesse, arm'd by love, And by chaste desire, All the night did rove Without dread at all: Still unknowne she past 45 In her strange attire; Coming at the last Within echoes call,-- You faire woods, quoth shee, Honoured may you bee, 50 Harbouring my heart's delight; Which encompass here My joye and only deare, My trustye friend, and comelye knight. Sweete, I come unto thee, 55 Sweete, I come to woo thee; That thou mayst not angry bee For my long delaying; For thy curteous staying Soone amendes Ile make to thee. 60
Passing thus alone Through the silent forest, Many a grievous grone Sounded in her eares: She heard one complayne 65 And lament the sorest, Seeming all in payne, Shedding deadly teares. Farewell, my deare, quoth hee, Whom I must never see; 70 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, 75 While my thoughts are feeding On the rarest beautye found. O hard happ, that may be! Little knows my ladye My heartes blood lyes on the ground. 80
With that a grone he sends Which did burst in sunder All the tender bands Of his gentle heart. She, who knewe his voice, 85 At his wordes did wonder; All her former joyes Did to griefe convert. Strait she ran to see, Who this man shold bee, 90 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, 95 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. 100
His pale lippes, alas! Twentye times she kissed, And his face did wash With her trickling teares: Every gaping wound 105 Tenderlye she pressed, And did wipe it round With her golden haires. Speake, faire love, quoth shee, Speake, fair prince, to mee, 110 One sweete word of comfort give: Lift up thy deare eyes, Listen to my cryes, Thinke in what sad griefe I live. All in vain she sued, 115 All in vain 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. 120
In this great distresse Weeping, wayling ever, Oft shee cryed, alas! What will become of mee? To my fathers court 125 I returne will never: But in lowlye sort I will a servant bee. While thus she made her mone, Weeping all alone, 130 In this deepe and deadlye feare: A for'ster all in greene, Most comelye to be seene, Ranging the woods did find her there. Moved with her sorrowe, 135 Maid, quoth hee, good morrowe, What hard happ has brought thee here? Harder happ did never Two kinde hearts dissever: Here lyes slaine my brother deare. 140