As I walked out one evening,
All amongst the springing thyme,
I overheard a pretty maiden,
Converse with Reynardine.

Her hair was black, and her eyes were blue,
Her lips, like the blood red wine
And he smiled as he looked upon her,
Did this sly bold Reynardine.

She said, I pray to you, be civil,
My company forsake,
For in my good opinion,
I believe you are a rake.

Oh no, no rake am I, cried he,
Brought up in Venus' train,
But I'm searching for concealment,
All from the pious men.

Her cherry cheeks and her ruby lips,
They lost their former dye,
And she fell on her knees before him,
Upon that mountain high.

Oh if by chance you look for me,
By chance you'll never me find,
For I'll be in my green castle,
Inquire for Reynardine.

She's followed him both day and night,
So bright his teeth did shine,
As he led her o’er the mountains,
This sly bold Reynardine.