Page:Poems and ballads (IA balladspoems00swinrich).pdf/211

 Would give me gold and gold enough, Though sorrow his very heart had riven, To win from me such wage thereof As now no thief would take if given.

'I was right chary of the same, God wot it was my great folly, For love of one sly knave of them, Good store of that same sweet had he; For all my subtle wiles, perdie, God wot I loved him well enow; Right evilly he handled me, But he loved well my gold, I trow.

'Though I gat bruises green and black, I loved him never the less a jot; Though he bound burdens on my back, If he said "Kiss me" and heed it not