O woe is me, my heart is sad, For I should never know If Love came by like any lad, Without his silver bow.
Or if he left his arrows sharp And came a minstrel weary, I'd never tell him by his harp Nor know him for my dearie.
"O go your ways and have no fear, For tho' Love passes by, He'll come a hundred times, my dear, Before your turn to die."
