Bend down your heads, ye gaudy flowers, and fade!
And wither’d be each fruit-tree’s mantling shade!
Beneath these beauteous branches once were seen,
Brave gentle knights disporting on the green,
And lovely dames; and oft, these flowers among,
Stray’d the blithe bands, and joyed to hear my song:
Nor would they hence retire, nor quit the grove,
Till many a vow were pass’d of mutual love;
These more would cherish, those would more deserve;
Cost, courtesy, and arms, and nothing swerve.