When I was a young maiden
Young but sensible and sweet,
My face was round and my lips rosy,
But my dress was always neat.

The village boys they would compare,
Me, the other girls and stare;
At each one of us to see
Who was fairer than she.

I was told that I was pretty
As pretty as they go,
But I had but mind and soul
Not to let it blow.

It was only until then
That I caught a great lords eye
With my hair and my smile,
But I was not ready to comply.

O' Why did he seek me out?
To praise my long brown hair
Why did this lord seek me out
To merely tell me I was faire?

He took me to his castle,
He took his faire maid there,
And with him I went,
Alas, went without a care.

Thus, the garden of Eden was created,
And it's great sins rose from it's grave;
But he made me his puppet,
And I knew that I was his slave.

Oh but pleasure such as these;
Soon grow tired and weary.
I was called his young harlot,
But then I became teary.

“O I am not pure! Not pure anymore!”
“No, dear heart, you are my dove,
Whose lily white and beautiful;
Which is purer than angels love.”

My lords eye wondered
to other girls like I used to be,
He wooed and gave them favours
But I was far from being free.



O Lady Alice, exquisite Alice;
Grew fairer than I;
He ceased calling for me,
Until he would fully cast me by.

I screamed and pulled my dress,
“O' I love him so, I love him so!”
I stomped and raged my feet;
But in this sin, he has caused me naught but woe.

He had given me jewels
He had given me treasures,
But they were worthless;
Without his concentrated pleasures.

It was like I never was,
Like everything he said was a lie;
That he never loved me,
Just used me and said goodbye.

I went back down the path,
All the way to my girlhood home,
But the folk, they looked upon me
At the place where I once did roam.

Because Alice was a good girl;
Because she waited and didn't say yes,
He soon put a ring on her finger,
Whereas he lifted up my dress.

They called her a lucky girl,
They called you virtuous and pure;
But I was the outcast little thing,
Something I was always to endure.

But who can say your love was greater?
Or more true or more strong,
For the lord said that same to me;
What he says to you in his song.

O' But maid Alice, my love was true,
But he would not let it be,
You would be where I be now,
If he had fooled you and not me.

His handsome face his strong hands,
Led me into such a trance,
I was blinded by what was true,
When he led me to a merry dance.



My golden son, my babe, my shame;
Cried every night at eleven past two;
For this is when this babe came about,
When I shamelessly laid with you.

Sixteen, far too young,
To be a mother, shamed and be done;
I be ruined and I be alone,
With you and your Alice, and I with your son.