Fain would I wed a fair young man,
That day and night could please me,
When my mind or body grieved
That had the power to ease me.
Maids are full of longing thoughts
That breed a bloodless sickness,
And that, oft I hear men say,
Is only cured by quickness.
Oft I have been wooed and prayed,
But never could be moved.
Many for a day or so
I have most dearly loved.
But this foolish mind of mine
Straight loathes the thing resolved.
If to love be sin in me,
That sin is soon absolved.
Sure, I think I shall at last fly
To some holy Order;
When I once am settled there
Then can I fly no farther.
Yet I would not die a maid,
Because I had a mother;
As I was by one brought forth,
I would bring forth another.