Alas afront standing before thee, brave
Cowish, unable to ask thee outright
Bewitched by thine beauty, oh humble knave
Oh whose virtue doth bloom roses anight

So elegant, set agaze even love
Drawn so, ah that love might set me aflight
To be carried by the wings of a dove
Standing tall with passions affect tonight

Oh, ready to sooth thy sorriest grief
To have seen thy don thy answer sincerely
To have heard thee breath a sigh of relief
Fain heart o'mine, and let eyne see clearly

Cowish, cowish no more, fain for thy bosom
Awaiting thine sweet roses answer, glum.