"Sweete maide," ye lovesicke youthe remarked,

"Thou'rt fickle as my star!

By far ye worste I ever sparked,

You are! You really are!

Albeit yt my brains are nil,

I'm gallante as can be;

I'lle be to you whate'er you wille,

If you'lle be more to me."

"Faire youthe," ye maide replied, "I do

Not barter, as a rule,

But I'lle be sister untoe you,—

Be you my Aprille foole."