There is a lady sweet and kind, was never face so pleas'd my mind;
I did but see her passing by, and yet I love her till I die.
Her gesture, motion, and her smiles, her wit, her voice, my heart beguiles, beguiles my heart.
I know not why, and yet I love her till I die.
Her free behaviour, winning looks, will make a lawyer burn his books;
I touch'd her not, alas! Not I, and yet I love her till I die.
Had I her fast betwixt mine arms, judge you that think such sports were harms, Were't any harm? No, no, fie, fie, for I will love her till I die.
Should I remain confined there so long as Phoebus in his sphere, I to request, she to deny, yet would I love her till I die.
Cupid is winged and doth range, her country so my love doth change: but change she earth, or change she sky, yet will I love her till I die.