And learn with Lettice to wax light,
That scornfully looks askance;
Then will we little Love awake,
That now sleepeth in Lethe lake,
And pray him leaden our dance.
THO. Willy, I ween thou be assot;
For lusty Love still sleepeth not,
But is abroad at his game.
WIL. How kenst thou that he is awoke?
Or hast thyself his slumber broke?
Or made privy to the same?
THO. No; but happily I him spied,
Where in a bush he did him hide,
With wings of purple and blue;
And, were not that my sheep would stray,
The privy marks I would bewray,
Whereby by chance I him knew.
WIL. Thomalin, have no care forthy;
Myself will have a double eye,
Alike to my flock and thine;
For, alas! at home I have a sire,
A stepdame eke, as hot as fire,
That duly adays counts mine.
THO. Nay, but thy seeing will not serve,
My sheep for that may chance to swerve,
And fall into some mischief:
For sithens is but the third morrow
That I chanc’d to fall asleep with sorrow,
And waked again with grief;
The while thilk same unhappy ewe,
Whose clouted leg her hurt doth shew,
Fell headlong into a dell,
And there unjointed both her bones:
Might her neck been jointed attones,
She should have need no more spell;
Th’ elf was so wanton and so wood,
(But now I trow can better good,)
She might ne gang on the green.
20
