Page:Poems and ballads (IA balladspoems00swinrich).pdf/210



I heard cry and groan That sweet who was the armourer's maid; For her young years she made sore moan, And right upon this wise she said; 'Ah fierce old age with foul bald head, To spoil fair things thou art over fain; Who holdeth me? who? would God I were dead! Would God I were well dead and slain!

'Lo, thou hast broken the sweet yoke That my high beauty held above All priests and clerks and merchant‑folk; There was not one but for my love