Before me, careless, lying,
Young Love his wares came crying.
Full soon the elf untreasures
His pack of pains and pleasures;
With roguish eye,
He bids me buy
From out his pack of treasures.

His wallet's stuffed with blisses,
With true-love knots and kisses,
With rings and rosy fetters,
And sugar'd vows and letters.
He holds them out
With boyish flout,
And bids me try the fetters.

"Nay, child," I cry, "I know them;
There's little need to shew them!
Too well for new believing
I know their old deceiving,
I am too old,"
I say, "and cold,
Today, for new believing"!

But still the wanton presses,
With honey-sweet caresses,
And still, to my undoing,
He wins me with his wooing,
To buy his ware
With all its care,
It's sorrow and undoing.