To the e , Echo, and thou to me agane
In the deserts among the wods and wells
Whair destinie hes bund thee to remane
But company within the firths and fells,
Let us complene, with wofull youts and yells
On shaft and shooter that our hairts hes slane:
To the e , Echo, and thou to me agane. . . .

Som thing, Echo, thou hes for to rejose
Suppose Narcissus somtyme the e forsook.
First he is dead syne changed in a Rose,
Whom thou nor nane hes pouer for to brook.
Bot be the contrair everie day I look
To sie my love attrapit in a trane.
From me Echo and nevir come agane.

Nou welcome Echo patience perforce.
Anes eviry day with murning let us meet,
Thy love nor myne in mynds haif no remorse:
We taist the sour that nevir felt the sueet.
As I demand then ansueir and repeit.
Let teirs aboundant ou'r our visage rane:
To the e Echo and thou to me agane.

What lovers (Echo) maks sik querimony? Mony.
What kynd of fyre doth kindle thair curage? Rage.
What medicine O Echo knouis thou ony? Ony?
Is best to stay this Love of his Passage? Age.
What merit thay that culd our sighs assuage? Wage.
What wer we first in this our love profane? Fane.
Whair is our joy O Echo tell agane. Gane!