| One evening as I rambled amongst the springing thyme,
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| I overheard a young woman conversing with Reynardine.
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| And her hair was black and her eyes were blue, her mouth as red as wine,
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| And he smiled as he looked upon her, did this sly bold Reynardine.
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| And she says, «Young man, be civil, my company forsake,
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| For to my good opinion I fear you are a rake.»
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| And he said, «My dear, well I am no rake brought up in Venus' train.
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| But I’m searching for concealment all from the judge’s men.»
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| And her cherry cheeks and her ruby lips they lost their former dye,
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| And she’s fell into his arms there all on the mountain high.
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| And they hadn’t kissed but once or twice till she came to again,
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| And it’s modestly she asked him, «Pray tell to me your name.»
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| «Well, if by chance you ask for me, perhaps you’ll not me find,
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| I’ll be in my green castle, enquire for Reynardine.»
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| And it’s day and night she followed him his, teeth so bright did shine.
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| And he led her over the mountain, did the sly bold Reynardine. |