What then ys love but mourning?
What desire but a self-burning?
Till she that hateth doth love return
Thus I wyll mourn, thus wyll I [bad word] away [bad word] away, my darling.
Beauty ys but a blooming,
Youth in his glory entombing;
Time hath a while which none can stay, [bad word] away while I thus [bad word] away [bad word] away, my darling.
Summer in winter fadeth,
Gloomy night heav'nly light shadeth,
Like to the morn are Venus' flowers,
Such are her hours, then wyll I [bad word] away [bad word] away, my darling.