True lovers redeth, so I'm told,
A new love chaseth out the old,
So none are bound in double love
To make them woe or merry,
But joy in one all else above,
And in this pleasure tarry.
Refrain:
But I have made my bed of thorns,
And in it I must lie;
To one or all am I forsworn,
I ask none lie with me.
Alas, for me, this bed I wove--
Sackcloth and pepper, silk and clove,
White linen crisp and apples gold;
In every sense made merry,
I could not choose one joy to hold
And in that pleasure tarry.
Refrain: repeat, except first word is 'For'
In tulips, wanton have I rolled,
In heather, happily gambolled;
Sweet clover would I gladly rove,
Nor bed me half as merry,
Were I one joy so free to prove,
As I with pleasure tarry.
Refrain: repeat
A rose I pluck-ed with my glove,
Till many roses made a grove,
A maze my pleasures to enfold,
To linger in so merry;
But only brambles stay in cold,
When joy will no more tarry.
Refrain: repeat, except first word is 'For'
Rosamunde del Shore A.S. XXXII
