Light to lure the feet of men.
By the breast where ne’er a hurt’ll
Rankle ’neath his kerchief hid—
What? you cry; he wore a kirtle?
Faith! methinks the rascal did!
Here’s a reward for who’ll find Love!
Love is a-straying
Ever since Maying;
Hither and you, below, above,
I am seeking Love.