One evening as I rambled among the springing thyme,
I overheard a young woman converse with Reynardine.
Her hair was black and her eyes were blue, her lips were red as wine.
And he smiled as he looked upon them, did this sly bold Reynardine.
She says, "Young man, be civil, me company forsake.
Oh for to my good opinion I fear you are a rake."
"Oh no, I am no rake," he cries, "brought up in Venus' train,
But I'm searching for concealment all from the judge's men."
Her cherry cheeks and her ruby lips they lost their former dye,
As she fell into his arms all on the mountain high.
They had not kissed but once or twice when she came to again
And most modestly she asked him oh pray tell to me your name.
"Oh, if by chance you look for me, by chance you'll not me find.
For I'll be in my green castle, enquire for Reynardine."
Oh, day and night she followed him, his cheeks all bright did shine,
As he led her over the mountain, did this sly bold Reynardine.