O fair lady, so fresh and fine.
Lips none the sweeter.
I couldn’t of chosen better,
When I made you mine.
Betwixt her fingers is the place for me,
So never the trouble approaches me.
To put my hand and hold her tight,
That face so fine, the smile inducing sight.
And is it not love that makes one blind?
So take and pluck out thine eyes,
Because you have no need to see.
Or of another person that you wish you could find,
It’s not the heart that loves and sighs,
In order for you to be.