Whose fond heart the burning sun-rays
From thine eyes do scorch and kill.
Seekest thou thine own adventures;
Others’ ventures thou suppliest;
Dealest wounds, yet for their healing
Salve of plaster thou deniest.
Tell me, lusty youth and valiant,
May thy wishes all be sped!
Was’t in Jaca’s gloomy mountains,
Or in Lybia thou wert bred?