Classic Poem

Walking in a meadowe greene,
fayre flowers for to gather,
where primrose rankes did stand on bankes
to welcome comers thither,
I heard a voice which made a Noise,
which caused me to attend it,
I heard a lasse say to a Ladd,
"Once more, & none can mend it."

They lay soe close together,
they made me much to wonder;
I know not which was wether,
until I saw her under.
Then off her came, & blusht for shame
soe soone that he had endit;
yet still she lyes, & to him cryes,
"Once more, & none can mend it."

His lookes were dull & very sad,
his courage she had tamed;
she bade him play the lusty lad
or else he quite was shamed;
"then stiffly thrust, he hit me just,
fear not, but freely spend it,
& play about at in & out;
once more, & none can mend it."

And then he thought to venter her,
thinking the fit was on him;
but when he came to enter her,
the point turned back upon him.
Yet she said, "stay! go not away
although the point he bended!
but toot again, hit the vaine!
once more, & none can Mend it."

Then in her Armes she did him fold,
& oftentimes she kist him,
yet still his courage was but cold
for all the good she wisht him;
yet with her hand she made it stand
so stiff she could not bend it,
& then anon she cries "come on
once more, & none can mend it!"

"Adieu, adieu, sweet heart," quoth he,
"for in faith I must be gone."
"Nay, then you do me wrong," quoth she,
"to leave me thus alone."
Away he went when all was spent,
whereat she was offended;
Like a Trojan true she made a vow
she would have one should mend it.