Tristan stood, without giving thank,
Among Isolde's loyal ranks,
For the magic philter could impel
Stronger even then love's spell.
My Lady then should give me thanks
Because that brew I never drank;
And yet my love fares valiantly,
Better than his, if that can be.
 
    O Lady fair,
    Of falseness bare,
    I'll belong to you
    If you love me [bad word]