Two lovers sat lamenting, 
hard by a Cristall brooke,
Each others hart tormenting,
Exchanging looke for looke,
With sihes and teares bewraying,
Their silent thoughts delaying,
At last coth one, shall we alone,
Sit here our thoughts bewraying?
Fie, fie, fie, fie, fie, 
oh fie, it may not be,
set looking by,
let speaking set us free.

Then thus their silence  breaking
Their thoughts too long estranged
They do bewray by speaking,
And words with words exchanged:
Then one of them replyed
Great pity we had dyed,
Thus all alone in silent moane
And not our thoughts descryed.
Fie, fie, oh fie,
Oh fie, that had beene ill
That inwardly
Sylence the hart should kill.

From lookes and words to kisses
They made their next proceeding,
And as their onely blisses
They therein were exeeding.
Oh what a joy is this,
To looke, to talke, to kisse?
But thus begunne is all now done?
Ah: all then nothing is. Fie, fie, oh fie,
Oh fie, it is a Hell
And better dye than kisse,
And not end well.