My knightly crest, my bounding barb resign,
For the poor shepherd’s crook and daisied field;
For courts or camps no wish my soul would prove,
So thou wouldst live with me, and be my love!
Earl of Surrey’s Poems.
For thy dear love my weary soul hath grown
Heedless of youthful sports: I seek no more
Or joyous dance, or music’s thrilling tone,
Or joys that once could charm in minstrel lore,
Or knightly tilt where steel-clad champions meet,