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Behold a jocund morn indeed
Sun on high, birds in sky
Yonder the whist firth eathing
Fro where a gale erranteth
Oh, that is a lie (ye beholdest but the shadow)
Lief I am not (mayhap a tithe of trothplight, I deem)
My words are but a twist (e'er and anon)
'Tis a feigned lie through loathing, I say
To and fro, save hither, is thy love (a dotard gaffer, I daresay)
Not a loth, but vying for my kinsmen (a sapling not)
Beautiful tyrant
Fiend angelical
Dove-feathered raven
Wolvish-ravening lamb
A hamlet for a slothful vassal
Soothing ale for a parched sot
Hie to tell me what ye judgest as naught
I behold the shadow
Wherefore call me such names
Nay imp am I
Thou art my aghast hart
Grassing in the glade
No, that is a lie (e'er thou sayest aye)
Lief I am not (thief of a plot)
My words are but a twist (now go to thy tryst)
Fare well (go, leave, totter)
With joy I came, with rue I leave (until ye dwindlest)
Even the orb (a morsel, nay more)
Cannot help me melt the ice (for thy journey hither and thiter)
Cannot help me melt the ice
Cannot help me melt the ice
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