Heere, upon mie true loves grave,
Schalle the baren fleurs be layde,
Ne one hallie seyncte to save
Al the celness of a mayde.
Mie love ys dedde,
Gonne to his deathe-bedde,
Al under the wyllowe-tree.
Wythe mie hondes I’ll dent the brieres
Rounde hys hallie corse to gre,
Ouphante fairies, lyghte your fyres,