Sweet flower, that art so fair and gay,
Come tell me if thou lovest me.
Think well, and tell me presently:
For sore it irks me, by my fay.

For sore it irketh me alway,
That I know not the mind of thee:
I pray thee, gentle lady gay,
If so thou wilt, tell truth to me.

For I do love thee so, sweet May,
That if my heart thou wert to see,
In sooth I know, of courtesy,
Thou wouldst have pity on me this day.

O Love, my love, and perfect bliss!
God in his goodness grant me this—
I see thee soon again.
Nought else I need to take away
The grief that for thy sake alway
Doth keep me in great pain.

Alas, I know not what to do,
Nor how to get good news and true:
Dear God, I pray to Thee;
If else Thou canst not comfort me,
Of Thy great mercy make that he
Send speedy news to me.

Within my father's garden alls
There is a tree—when April falls
It blossometh alway.
There wend I oft in winter drear,
Yes, and in spring, the winds to hear,

O nightingale of woodland gay,
Go to my love and to her tell
That I do love her passing well;
And bid her also think of me,
For I to her will bring the may.

The may that I shall bring will be
Nor rose nor any opening flower;
But with my heart I will her dower;
And kisses on her lips I'll lay,
And pray God keep her heartily.

Now who is he on earth that lives,
Who knows or with his tongue can say
What grief to poor lovers it gives
To love with loyal heart alway?

So bitter is their portion, yea,
So hard their part!
But this doth more confound my heart;
Unloved to love, and still to pray!
Thinking thereon I swoon away.

Maid Marjory sits at the castle gate:
With groans and sighs
She weeps and cries:
Her grief it is great.
Her father asks, “Daughter, what is your woe?
Seek you a husband or lord I trow?”
“Let husbands be.
Give my love to me,
Who pines in the dungeon dark below.”

“I' faith, my daughter, thou'll long want him;
For he hangs to-morrow when dawn is dim.”

“Then bury my corpse at the gallows' feet;
And men will say they were true lovers sweet.”

I found at daybreak yester morn,
Close by the nest where she was born,
A tender turtle dove:
Oha! ohé! ohesa, hesa, hé!

She fluttered, but she could not fly;
I heard, but would not heed her cry:
She had not learned to love:
Oha! ohé! ohesa, hesa, hé!

Now she is quiet on my breast,
And from her new and living nest
She doth not seek to rove:
Oha! ohé! ohesa, hesa, hé!

They lied, those lying traitors all,
Disloyal, hypocritical,
Who feigned that I spake ill of thee.
Heed not their words of charity;
For they are flatterers tongued with gall,
And liars all.

They make the tales that they let fall,
Coining falsehoods, where withal
They swear that I spake ill of thee:
Heed not their lies of charity;
For they are flatterers tongued with gall,
And liars all.

Believe them not, although they call
Themselves thy servants; one and all,
They lie, or God's course light on me,—

My love for him shall be
Fair love and true:
For he loves me, I know,
And I love him, pardie!

And for I know that he
Doth love me so,
I should be all untrue
To love but him, pardie!

In this merry morn of May,
When as the year grows young and green,
Into the wood I went my way,
To say farewell unto my queen.

And when we could no longer stay,
Weeping upon my neck she fell,
Oh, send me news from far away,
Farewell, sweet heart of mine, farewell.

Fair is her body, bright her eye,
With smiles her mouth is kind to me;
Then, think no evil, this is she
Whom God hath made my only joy.

Between the earth and heaven high
There is no maid so fair as she;
The beauty of her sweet body
Doth ever fill my heart with joy.

He is a knave, nor do I lie,
Who loveth her not heartily;
The grace that shines from her body
Giveth to lovers: all great joy.