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 sharpAnd came a minstrel weary, I'd never tell him by his harpNor 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."