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Lyric provided by www.seekalyric.com |
Your yen two woll sle me sodenly! I may the beaute of them not sustene, So wondeth it thorowout my herte kene. And but your word woll helen hastely My hertes wound, while that it is grene, Your yen two woll sle me sodenly! I may the beaute of them not sustene. Upon my trouth I sey you feithfully, That ye ben of my liffe and deth the quene: For with my deth the trouth shall be sene. So hath yowr beaute fro your herte chased Pitee that me n'availleth not to plaine, For danger halt your mercy in his chaine. Giltless my deth thus han ye me purchased! I sey you soth, me nedeth not to feine. So hath your beaute fro your herte chased Pitee that me n'availleth not to plaine. Alas that nature hath in you compased So grete beaute that no man may attaine To mercy though he sterve for the paine. |