Walking in a meadowe greene, fayre flowers for to gather,
where primrose rankes did stand on bankes, to welcome corners thither,
I heard a voice which made a Noise, which caused me to attend it,
I heard a lass say to a Ladd, "once more & none can mend it."

They lay soe close together, they made me much to wonder;
I knew not which was wether, until I saw her under.
Then off he catne, & blusht for shame soe soon that he had endit;
Yet still she lies, & to him cryes, "once more and none can mend it."

His looks were dull and verry sad, his courage slice had tamed;
Shee bad him play the lusty lad or else he quite was shamed;
"Then stiffly thrust, bee hit me just, ffear not, but freely spend it,
& play about at in & out; once more and none can mend it."

And then he thought to venter her, thinking the ffit was on him;             Enter
But when he came to enter her the poynt turnd back upon him.
Yet she said, "stay! goe not away although the point be bended!
But toot againe & hit the vaine! once more & none can Mend it."

Then in her Armes shee did him fold, & oftentimes shee kist him,
Yett still his courage was but cold, for all the good shee wisht him;
Yett with her hand she made it stand so stiffe she could not bend it,
& then anon she cryes, "come on, once more & none can mend it!"

"Adew, adew, sweet hart," quoth bee, "for in faith I must be gone."
"Nay, then you doe me wrong" quoth she, "to leave me thus alone."
Away he went when all was spent, wherat she was offended:
Like a Trojan true she made a vow shee wold have one shold mend it.