Lady, those eyes of yours,
Lady, those fair eyes,
Lady mine, those eyes that shine so clearly:
Why do you hide from me,
That bought their beams so dearly?
Think not, when thou exil'st me,
Less heat in me sojourneth,
O no, no, O no, no,
Then thou beguil'st thee.
Love doth but shine in thee,
But O, in me he burneth.