sitting a pretty woman: this woman was wife to the weaver, and was
a-winding of quills[9] for her husband. Robin liked her so well, that for
her sake he became servant to her husband, and did daily work at the loom;
but all the kindness that he showed was but lost, for his mistress would
show him no favour, which made him many times to exclaim against the whole
sex in satirical songs; and one day being at work he sung this, to the tune
of _Rejoice Bag-pipes_--

Why should my love now wax
Unconstant, wavering, fickle, unstaid?
With nought can she me tax:
I ne'er recanted what I once said.
I now do see, as nature fades,
And all her works decay,
So women all, wives, widows, maids,
From bad to worse do stray.

As herbs, trees, roots, and plants
In strength and growth are daily less,
So all things have their wants:
The heavenly signs move and digress;
And honesty in women's hearts
Hath not her former being:
Their thoughts are ill, like other parts,
Nought else in them's agreeing.

I sooner thought thunder
Had power o'er the laurel wreath,
Than she, women's wonder,
Such perjured thoughts should live to breathe.