Love's a lovely lad,
His bringing up is beauty
Who loves him not is mad;
For I mmust pay him duty,
Now I am sad.

Hail to those sweet eyes
That shine celestial wonder;
From thence do flames arise
Burns my poor heart asunder;
Now it dies.

Cupid sets a crown
On those lovely tresses;
Not a frown
what he so sweetly dresses.
I'll sit down.

Whither shall I go
To escape away from folly?
For now there's love I know,
or else 'tis melancholy.
Yonder lies the snow

But my poor heart can't melt it;
Love shoots from his bow,
And my poor heart hath felt it.
Now I am sad.
Love's a lovely lad.