Anonymous Olde English
A Robyn, Jolly Robyn
Tell me how thy leman doeth,
And thou shalt knowe of myn.
'My lady is unkynde, perde.'
Alack! why is she so?
'She loveth an other better than me;
And yet she will say no.'
I fynde no such doublenes;
I fynde women true;
My lady loveth me dowtles,
And will change for no newe.
'Thou art happy while that deeth last:
But I say, as I fynde,
That women's love is but a blast,
And torneth with the wynde.'
Suche folkes can take no harme by love,
That can abide their torn.
'But I alas can no way prove
In love, but lake and morne.'
But if thou wilt avoyde thy harme,
Lerne this lessen of me:
At others fieres thy selfe to warme,
And let them warme with the.
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Comments about this poem (A Robyn, Jolly Robyn by Anonymous Olde English )
- You can or cannot....., Marshall Gass
- Do you still hear them sing?, Harold R Hunt Sr
- Blessed light, Rubel das raj
- No Time, Harold R Hunt Sr
- The Doctor Visit, Harold R Hunt Sr
- postponed until further -hey, i just not.., Mandolyn ...
- The elusive self., michael walker
- We Honor, Harold R Hunt Sr
- Why Do You Cry?, Harold R Hunt Sr
- read me like this, or don't read me at all, Mandolyn ...
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