Quite over the mountains, 
And over the waves, 
Quite over the fountains,
And under the graves; 
O'er floods that are deepest, 
Which Neptune obey, 
O'er rocks that are steepest,
Love will find out the way.

Some think to lose him, 
Which is too unkind;
And some do suppose him, 
Poor thing to be blind;
But if ne'er so close ye wall him, 
Do the best that ye may, 
Blind Love, if so ye call him, 
He will find out the way.