WHAT shall I doe if love me leave? Night and daye I cannot sleepe. For my lover I doe grieve When unto my bed I creepe. Then I rise with bodye bare And doe on my robe of graye; Glidynge down a secret stayre, Thro' the grove I wend awaye. There the merry larke doth synge, And the nightingale doth crye In his prettye jargonynge, "See these lovers farynge bye, "On the river in a boat Movynge on her stately waye, "With a satin saile a-float And with silken cordes for staye. "The tall maste is ivorie, And the rudder golden pale; "From a far awaye countrie Come the lads that trim the saile. "One that bears the Fleurs-de-Lys Is the Kynge of France's sonne, "And the other lad, I wis Is my owne belovéd one." |