Full Lyrics
Hey troly loly lo, mayde whether go you?
I go to the medow to mylke my cowe.
Than at the medow I wyll you mete,
To gather the floweris both fayer and swete.
R1:
Nay, God forbede, that may not be;
Iwysse my mother then shall us se.
Now in this medow fayre and grene
We may us sport and not be sene;
And yf ye wyll I shall consent.
How sey ye, mayde? be ye content?
R2:
Nay, in goode feyth,
I wyll not melle with you.
I pray you, sir, lett me go mylke my cow.
Why, wyll ye nott geve me no comfortt,
That in the feldes we may us sportt?
R1.
Ye be so nyce and so mete of age
That ye gretly move my corage;
Syth I love you, love me agayne;
Let us make one, though we be twayne.
R2.
Ye have my hert, sey what ye wyll,
Wherefore ye muste my mynde fulfyll,
And graunte me here yor maydynhed,
Or elles for you I shall be ded.
R2.
Then for this onse I shall you spare,
But the nexte tyme ye muste beware
How in the medow ye mylke yor cow.
Adew, farewell and kysse me now!
R2.
