One evening as I rambled amongst the springing thyme
I overheard a young woman conversing with Reynadine.
Her hair was black and her eyes were blue her lips as red as wine
And he smiled as he gazed upon her
Did that sly, bold Reynadine.
She said, “Young man, be civil. My company forsake,
For to my good opinion, I fear you are a rake.”
He said, “My dear, I am no rake, brought up in Venus’ train,
But I’m searching for concealment all from the judge’s men.”
Her ruby lips, her rosy cheeks, they lost their former dye,
And she fell into his arms there, all on the mountain high.
They hadn’t kissed but once or twice till she came to again
And so gently she asked him, “Pray, tell to me your name.”
He said, “If by chance you’ll look for me, I fear you’ll not me find,
I’ll be in my castle, enquire for Reynadine.”
Day and night and night and day she followed him, his teeth did shine.
And he led her o’er the mountain, did that sly, bold Reynadine.
One evening as I rambled amongst the springing thyme
I overheard a young woman conversing with Reynadine.