When the nightingalë sings the woodës waxen green; Leaf and grass and blossom spring in Averil, I ween, And love is to my hertë gone with a spear so keen, Night and day my blood it drinks, my hertë doth me tene.

The bryghtt enamell of the mornyng's gleame Begann to daunce onn bobblynge Avonn's streame, As yothefull Alfrede and Matylda fayre Stoode sorowynge bie, ennobledd bie despayre: Att tymes theyr lypps the tynts of Autumpe wore, Att tymes a palerr hewe thann wynterr bore; And faste the rayne of love bedew'dd theyr eyne, As thos, in earnefull strayns, theyr tenes theie dyd bewreene.