All good fellows whose beards are grey,

Did not the fairest of the fair

Common grow and wearisome ere

Ever a month was passed away?

The reddest lips that ever have kissed,

The brightest eyes that ever have shone,

May pray and whisper, and we not list,

Or look away, and never be missed,

Ere yet ever a month is gone.

Gillian’s dead, God rest her bier,