Classic Poem

In a frith as I can fare fremede
I founde a wel fair fenge to fere:
Heo glistnede as gold when it glemede;
N'as ne'r gome so gladly on gere.
I wolde wite in world who hir kenede,
This burde bright, if hire wil were.
Heo me bad go my gates lest hir gremede;
Ne kepte heo non hening here.

‘Y-here thou me now, hendest in helde;
N'ave I thee none harmes to hethe;
Casten I wil thee from cares and kelde;
Comelich I wil thee now clethe.’

‘Clothes I have on for to caste
Such as I may were with winne.
Betere is were thinne boute laste
Than side robes and sinke into sinne.
Have ye yor wil, ye waxeth unwraste;
Afterward yor thank beeth thinne.
Betere is make forewardes faste
Than afterward to menen and minne.’

‘Of minning ne minte thou na more;
Of menske thou were wurthe, by my might.
I take on hand to holde, that I hore,
Of al that I thee have behight.
Why is thee loth to leven on my lore
Lengere than my love were on thee light?
An other mighte yerne thee so yore
That n'olde thee nought rede so right.’

‘Such reed me mighte spacliche rewe
When al my ro were me atraght;
Soone thou woldest sechen an newe
And take another withinne niye naght.
Thenne might I hungren on hewe,
In ech an hird been hated and forhaght,
And been y-caired from alle that I knewe,
And bede clevien ther I hade claght.

‘Betere is taken a comeliche I clothe
In armes to kisse and to clippe
Than a wreche I wedded so wrothe—
Though he me slowe ne might I him aslippe.’
‘The beste reed that I can to us bothe:
That thou me take and I thee toward hippe.
Though I swore by treuthe and othe,
That God hath shaped may non atlippe.’

‘Mid shupping ne may it me ashunche:
N'as I never wiche ne wile.
Ich am a maide—that me ofthunche!
Leef me were gome boute gile.’