Classic Poem

A: yong man walking alone,
abroad to take the ayre,
itt was his chance ffor him to meete
a maiden pasing ffaire
desiring her of curtesiye
awhile w i th him downe sitt;
shee answered him most modestlye,
" O nay! O nay! not yett! "

" Forty crownes I will giue thee,
sweete hart, in good red gold,
if tha t I may thy ffauour haue,
thy bewtye to behold. "
& then she spoke now readilye
& w i th a ready witt,
" I will not sell my honestye!
O nay! O nay! not yett!

" Gold & mony is but drosse,
& worldly vanittye;
I doe esteeme more of the losse
of my virginitye!
but dost thou thinke I am soe madd,
or of soe litle witt
as ffor to sell my honestye?
O nay! O nay! not yett! "

They way to win a womans hart,
is quicklye to be breiffe,
& giue her tha t w i th-in ffew words
tha t will soone ease her greiffe.
" O ffye! O ffye! away! " sheele crye,
tha t loues a dainty bitt,
" I will not yeelde to Cupids lawes!
O nay! O nay! not yett! "