Als I me rode this endre day,
O'my pleyinge,
Seih I whar a litel may
Bigan to singe:
"The clot him clinge!
Wai is him I' louve-longinge
Shall libben ay,
That slepen I ne may."
Son ich herde that mirie note,
Thider I drogh;
I fonde hire in an herber swot
Under a bogh
With joye inogh.
Son I asked: "Thou mirie may,
Why singest thou ay,
That slepen I ne may?"
Now springes the spray
All for love ich am so seek,
That slepen I ne may.
Than answerde that maiden swote
Midde wordes fewe:
"My lemman me haves bihot
Of louve trewe;
He chaunges anewe.
If I may, it shall him rewe
By this day,
That slepen he ne may."