Song

O woe is me, my heart is sad,

For I should never know

If Love came by like any lad,

Without his silver bow.

Or if he left his arrows sharp

And came a minstrel weary,

I'd never tell him by his harp

Nor know him for my dearie.

“O go your ways and have no fear,

For tho’ Love passes by,

He'll come a hundred times, my dear,

Before your turn to die.”