A pleasant new Court Song, Between a young Courtier, and a Country Lass.  

To a new Court Tune.  
 

Upon a Summer's time,  
in the middle of the morn,  
A bonny Lass I spied,  
the fairest ere was borne,  
Fast by a standing Pool,  
within a meadow green,  
She laid herself to cool,  
not thinking to be seen.   

She gathered lovely flowers,  
and spent her time in sport:  
As if to Cupid's bowers  
she daily did resort.  
The fields afford content  
unto this maiden kind,  
Much time, and pains she spent,  
to satisfy her mind.   

The Cowslip there she cropped,  
the Daffodil and Daisy:  
The Primrose looked so trim,  
she scorned to be lazy,  
And ever as he did,  
these pretty posies pull,  
She rose and fetched a sigh,  
and wished her apron full.   

I hearing of her wish,  
made bold to step unto her:  
Thinking her love to win,  
I thus began to woo her,  
Fair maid, be not so coy,  
to kiss thee I am bend:  
O fie, she cried, away,  
yet smiling gave consent.   

Then did I help to pluck  
of every flower that grew,  
No herb nor flower I missed,  
but only Time and Rue.  
Both she and I took pains  
to gather flowers store,  
Until this maiden said,  
kind sir, I'll have no more.   

Yet still my loving heart  
did proffer more to pull,  
No sir, quoth she, i'll part,  
because mine apron's full.  
So sir, i'll take my leave,  
till next we meet again:  
Rewards me with a kiss,  
and thanks me for my pain.    

The Second part. To the same Tune.  
 

IT was my chance of late,  
to walk the pleasant fields:  
Where sweet tuned chirping birds,  
harmonious music yields.  
I lent a listening ear  
unto their music rare:  
At last mine eye did glance  
upon a Damsel fair.   

I stepped me close aside,  
under a Hawthorne briar:  
Her passions laid her down,  
overruled with fond desire.  
Alack fond maid she cried,  
and strait fell a weeping,  
Why sufferest thou thy heart,  
within a false ones keeping?   

Wherefore is Venus Queen,  
whom maids adore in mind,  
Obdurate to our prayers,  
or like her fondling blind:  
When we do spend our loves,  
whose fond expense is vain?  
For men are grown so false,  
the cannot love again.   

The Queen of love doth know,  
best how the matter stands,  
And Hymen knows, I long  
to come within her hands.  
My love best knows my love,  
and love repaies with hate,  
Was ever virgins love,  
so much unfortunate?   

Did my love fickle prove  
then had he cause to fly:  
But I'll be judged by love.  
I loved him constantly.  
I hearing of her vows,  
set bashfulness a part,  
And strived with all my skill,  
to cheer this maiden's heart.   

I did instruct her love,  
where love might be repaid:  
Could I, quoth she, find love,  
I were an hap●y maid.  
I strait in love replied,  
in me thou Love shalt find:  
So made the bargain sure,  
and eased the Maiden's mind.    
FINIS.   

Printed by the Assigns of Thomas Symcocke.