< Page:Poems and ballads (IA balladspoems00swinrich).pdf
'I was right chary of the same,
'Though I gat bruises green and black,
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FRENCH OF VILLON.
195
Would give me gold and gold enough,
Though sorrow his very heart had riven,
To win from me such wage thereof
As now no thief would take if given.
iii.
God wot it was my great folly,
For love of one sly knave of them,
Good store of that same sweet had he;
For all my subtle wiles, perdie,
God wot I loved him well enow;
Right evilly he handled me,
But he loved well my gold, I trow.
iv.
I loved him never the less a jot;
Though he bound burdens on my back,
If he said "Kiss me" and heed it not
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