Anonymous British

A Robyn, Jolly Robyn

A Robyn, Jolly Robyn, Tell me how thy leman doeth, And thou shalt knowe of myn. 'My lady is unkynde, perde. ' Alack! why is she so? 'She loveth an other better than me; And yet she will say no. ' I fynde no such doublenes; I fynde women true; My lady loveth me dowtles, And will change for no newe. 'Thou art happy while that deeth last: But I say, as I fynde, That women's love is but a blast, And torneth with the wynde. ' Suche folkes can take no harme by love, That can abide their torn. 'But I alas can no way prove In love, but lake and morne. ' But if thou wilt avoyde thy harme, Lerne this lessen of me: At others fieres thy selfe to warme, And let them warme with the.