An excellent Ballad of a Prince of England's Courtship to the King of France's Daughter, and how the Prince was disasterously slain; and how the aforesaid Princess was afterwards married to a Forester.  
To the Tune of, Crimson velvet, etc.  
 
 

IN the Days of Old  
when fair France did flourish,  
Stories plainly told,  
Lovers it annoy;  
The King a Daughter had,  
beauteous, fair, and lovely,  
Which made her father glad,  
she was his only joy:  
A Prince of England came,  
Whose Deeds did merit fame,  
he wooed her long, and lo at last,  
And what he did require,  
She granted his desire,  
their hearts in one were linked fast.  
Which when her father proved,  
Lord how he was moved,  
and tormented in his mind,  
He sought for to prevent them,  
And to discontent them,  
Fortune crossed Lovers kind.   

When these Princes twain,  
were thus barred of pleasure.  
Through the King's Disdain,  
which their joys withstood,  
The Lady locked up close,  
her jewels and her treasure,  
Having no remorse  
of State and Royal blood:  
In homely poor array,  
She went from Court away,  
to meet her love and hearts delight:  
Who in a Forest great,  
Had taken up his seat,  
to wait her coming in the night:  
But lo what sudden Danger,  
To this Princely Stranger  
chanced as he sat alone;  
By Outlaws he was rob,  
And with Poniard stabded,  
uttering many a dying Groan.   

The Princess armed by him,  
and by true Desire,  
Wand'ring all that night,  
without dread at all;  
Still unknown she passed,  
in her strange attire,  
Coming at the last,  
within Echoes call,  
You fair wood, quoth she,  
Honoured may you be,  
harbouring my heart's delight,  
Which doth encompass here,  
My Joy and only Dear,  
my trusty friend & comely Knight;  
Sweet I come unto thee,  
Sweet I come to woe thee,  
that thou mayst not angry be,  
For my long delaying,  
And thy courteous staying,  
amends for all I'll make to thee.   

Passing thus alone,  
through the silent-Forrest,  
Many a grievous groan  
sounded in her ear,  
Where she heard a man  
to lament the sorest  
Chance that ever came,  
forced by Deadly strife  
Farewell (my Dear) quoth he,  
Whom I shall never see,  
for why my life is at an end;  
For thy sweet sake I die,  
Through villains cruelty,  
to show I am a faithful friend;  
Here lie a bleeding,  
While my thoughts are feeding  
on the rarest beauty found:  
O hard hap that may be,  
Little knows my Lady  
my heart blood lies on the ●round.   

With that he gave a Groan  
that did break asunder,  
All the tender strings  
of his gentle heart:  
She who knew his voice,  
at his tale did wonder,  
All her former joys  
did to grief convert,  
Strait she ran to see  
who this Man should be,  
That so like her love did speak,  
and found when as she came,  
Her lovely Lord lay slain,  
sweared in blood which life did break  
Which when that she espied,  
Lord how sore she cried,  
her sorrows could not counted be,  
Her eyes like fountains running,  
While she cried out, My Darling,  
would God that I had died for thee.   

His pale lips; alas,  
twenty times she kissed,  
And his face did wash  
with her brinish tears;  
Every bleeding wound  
her fair face bedewed,  
Wiping off the blood  
with her golden hair:  
Speak my Lord (quoth she)  
Speak fair Prince to me  
one sweet word of comfort give;  
Lift up thy fair eyes,  
Listen to my cries,  
think in what great grief I live;  
All in vain she sued,  
All in vain she wooed,  
the Prince's life was fled & gone:  
There stood she still mourning,  
Till the Sun's approaching,  
& bright day was coming on.    


In this great Distress,  
quoth this Royal Lady,  
Who can now express  
what will become of me?  
To me Father's Court  
never will I wonder,  
But some service seek,  
where I may placed be.  
Whilst she thus made her moan,  
Weeping all alone,  
in this deep & deadly fear,  
A Forester all in green,  
Most comely to be seen,  
ranging the wood did find her there,  
Round beset with sorrow,  
Maid (quoth he) good morrow,  
what hard hap hath brought ye here  
Harder hap did never  
Chance to a Maiden ever,  
here lies slain my Brother dear.   

Where might I be placed,  
gentle Forrester tell me;  
Where might I procure  
a service in my need?  
Pains will I not spare,  
but would do my duty,  
Ease me of my care,  
help my extreme need.  
The Forester all amazed,  
On her beauty gazed,  
till his heart was set on fire:  
If fair maid (quoth he)  
You will go with me,  
you shall have your hearts desire.  
He brought her to his mother,  
And above all other  
he set forth this maiden's praise;  
Long was his heart inflamed,  
At length her love he gained,  
so fortune did his glory raise.   

Thus unknown he matched  
with the King's fair Daughter,  
Children seven he had,  
e'er she to him was known:  
But when he understood  
she was a Royal Princess,  
By this means at last  
he shows forth her fame:  
He clothed his children then,  
Not like to other men,  
in partly colours strange to see,  
The right side cloth of gold,  
The left side to behold  
of woollen cloth still framed he:  
Men thereat did wonder;  
Golden Fame did thunder  
this strange Deed in every place:  
The King of France came thither,  
Being pleasant weather  
in these woods the hart to chase.   

The Children there did stand  
as their mother willed,  
Where the Royal King  
must of force come by.  
Their mother richly clad  
in fair Crimson Velvet,  
Their faither all in grey,  
most comely to the eye,  
When this famous king,  
Foting every thing,  
did ask how he durst be so bold,  
To let his wife to wear,  
And deck his Children there,  
in costly Robes of pearl & gold.  
The Forester bold replied,  
And the cause Descried;  
& to the king he thus did say:  
Well may they by their mother,  
Wear rich  with other,  
being by birth a Princess gay.   

The king upon these words  
more heedfully beheld them,  
Till a crimson blush  
his conceit did cross:  
The more I look (quoth he)  
upon thy wife and children,  
The more I call to mind  
my daughter whom I lost.  
I am that child (quoth she)  
Falling on her knee,  
pardon me my Sovereign Liege,  
The king perceiving this,  
His Daughter dear did kiss,  
till joyful tears did stop his speech  
With his train he turned,  
And with her sojourned,  
strait he dubbed her husband knight,  
He made him Earl of Flanders,  
One of his chief Commanders;  
thus was their sorrow put to flight.    

Licenced and Entered according to Order.   

Printed by and for Alex. Milbourn, and sold by the Booksellers of Pie-corner and London-Bridge.