When the nightingale sings, the woodes waxen greene,

Leaf and grass and blossom springs, in Averil I weene,

And love is to my hearte gone, with a spear so keene.

Night and day my blood it drinks, mine heartes death to teene.

I have loved all this year, that I can love no more,

I have sighed many sighs, Lady, for thine ore,

Ne’er my love comes near to thee, and that me grieveth sore.

Sweetest Lady think on me, I loved thee of yore.

Sweetest Lady, speak I pray, one word of love to me,

While in this wide world I stay, I’ll seek for none but thee,

Your kind love might give me bliss, from pain might set me free,

A sweet kiss of thy dear mouth, might my surgeon be.

Sweetest Lady, here I pray, one boon of love bestowe,

If you love me, as men say, as I, dearest, knowe,

If you will it, look on me, just a look will showe,

So much have I thought of thee, I all ghastly growe

Between Lincoln and Lindesey, North-Hamptoun and Londoune,

I wot not of so fair a may, by tower, dale, or toune,

Dearest one, I humbly pray, love me a little soone.

I now will plain my song,

To her to whom it doth belong.