'And art thou dead, thou gentle youth
And art thou dead and gone;
And didst thou die for love of me?
Break, cruel heart of stone!'
'Oh, weep not, lady, weep not so,
Some ghostly comfort seek;
Let not vain sorrows rive thy heart,
Nor tears bedew thy cheek.'
'Oh, do not, do not, holy friar,
My sorrow now reprove;
For I have lost the sweetest youth
That e'er won lady's love.
'And now, alas! for thy sad loss
I'll ever weep and sigh;
For thee I only wish'd to live,
For thee I wish to die.'
'Weep no more, lady, weep no more,
Thy sorrow is in vain;
For violets pluck'd, the sweetest shower
Will ne'er make grow again.
'Our joys as wingèd dreams do fly,
Why then should sorrow last?
Since grief but aggravates thy loss,
Grieve not for what is past.'
'Oh, say not so, thou holy friar,
I pray thee say not so;
For since my true-love died for me,
'Tis meet my tears should flow.
'And will he never come again?
Will he ne'er come again?
Ah! no, he is dead and laid in his grave,
For ever to remain.
'His cheek was redder than the rose;
The comeliest youth was he;
But he is dead and laid in his grave:
Alas, and woe is me!'
'Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more;
Men were deceivers ever;
One foot on sea and one on land,
To one thing constant never.