Chappell gives this and two more verses but comments, "The above words were taken from 'a MS. in the possession of the late Mr. Payne Collier'; but as there are thirteen stanzas, and as each repetition of the tune requires two, it mat be doubted whether they were not intended for some other melody..." He suggests an untitled tune by William Byrd from the Fitzwilliam Virginal Book. But he then goes on to complain that that doesn't quite fit the words either. [Chappell, W., Old English Popular Music, 1893, reprinted 1961, Jack Russell, New York. Pages 79-81]
He continues, "In A Handfull of Pleasant Delites, 1584, there is, 'An excellent song of an outcast Lover, to All in a Garden green,' containing 24 stanzas which begins thus:-
For the life of me, I can't put the words and music together in the B part.
* * *
Here's another -- which seems to require three times through the B part. The source is A Handful of Pleasant Delights (1584) by Clement Robinson and Divers Others [1924 transcription edited by Hyder E. Rollins ]. It's on this site. The site maintainer comments, "This subset of this book was transcribed from the 1924 transcription of Hyder Rollins, published by Harvard University Press. This same book was reprinted by Dover in 1965. I have transcribed only the ballads which I find interesting. All typoes are probably mine, but might be difficult to find." He adds a link to his interesting pre-1600 Ballads project.
An excellent Song of an outcast Louer. To, All in a Garden green.
My fancie did I fixe,
in faithful forme and frame:
in hope ther shuld no blustring blast
haue power to moue the same.
And as the Gods do know,
and world can witnesse beare:
I neuer serued other Saint,
nor Idoll other where.
But one, and that was she,
whom I in heart did shrine:
And made account that pretious pearle,
and iewel rich was mine.
No toile, nor labour great,
could wearie me herein:
For stil I had a Iasons heart,
the golden fleece to win.
And sure my sute was hearde,
I spent no time in vaine:
A grant of friendship at her hand,
I got to quite my paine.
With solemne vowe and othe.
Was knit the True-loue knot,
And friendly did we treat of loue,
as place and time we got.
Now would we send our sighes,
as far as they might go,
Now would we worke with open signes,
to blaze our inward wo.
Now rings and tokens too,
renude our friendship stil,
And ech deuice that could be wrought,
exprest our plaine goodwill,
True meaning went withall,
it cannot be denide:
Performance of the promise past,
was hopte for of ech side:
And lookt for out of hand:
such vowes did we two make,
As God himself had present been,
record thereof to take.
And for my part I sweare,
by all the Gods aboue,
I neuer thought of other friend,
nor sought for other loue.
The same consent in her,
I saw ful oft appeare,
If eies could see, or head could iudge,
or eare had power to heare.
Yet loe words are but winde,
an other new come guest,
Hath won her favour (as I feare)
as fancies rise in brest.
Her friend that wel deserues,
is out of countenaunce quite,
She makes the game to see me shoot,
while others hit the white.
He may wel beat the bush,
as manie thousands doo:
And misse the bird, and haply loose
his part of feathers too.
He hops without the ring,
yet daunceth on the trace,
When some come after soft and faire,
a heauie hobling pace.
In these vnconstant daies,
such troth these women haue:
As wauering as the aspen leaf
they are, so God me saue.
For no deserts of men
are weid, what ere they be;
For in a mood their minds are led
with new delights we see.
The guiltlesse goeth to wrack,
the gorgeous peacocks gay:
They do esteem vpon no cause,
and turne their friends away.
I blame not al for one,
some flowers grow by the weeds,
Some are as sure as lock and key,
and iust of words and deeds.
And yet of one I waile,
of one I crie and plaine:
And for her sake shall neuer none,
so nip my heart againe:
If for offense or fault,
I had been floong at heele:
The lesse had been my bitter smart,
and gnawing greefe I feele.
But being once reteind,
a friend by her consent:
And after that to be disdaind,
when best good will I ment,
I take it nothing well,
for if my power could show,
With Larum bel and open crie,
the world should throughly know.