And adieu to you, my darlings.
Turn back, turn back, you Spanish Knights,
All in French garlands;
Scour, scour your spurs, till they be bright,
And adieu to you, my darlings.
Sharp shine our spurs, all richly wrought,
All in French garlands;
In towns afar our spurs were bought
And adieu to you, my darlings.
Smell my lilies, smell my roses,