Page:Poems and ballads (IA poemsballads00swinrich).pdf/155



is better, I well think, Than love; the hidden well-water Is not so delicate to drink: This was well seen of me and her.

I served her in a royal house; I served her wine and curious meat. For will to kiss between her brows, I had no heart to sleep or eat.

Mere scorn God knows she had of me, A poor scribe, nowise great or fair, Who plucked his clerk's hood back to see Her curled-up lips and amorous hair.

I vex my head with thinking this. Yea, though God always hated me, And hates me now that I can kiss Her eyes, plait up her hair to see