When the nightegale singes

And the wodes waxen grene

Lef and grass and blosme springes

In Averil, I wene

(And) love is to min herte gon

With one spere so kene

Night and day my blod it drinkes

Min herte deth me tene Ich have loved all this year

That I may love namore

Ich have siked mony sik

Lemmon, for thin ore

Me nis love never the ner

And that me reweth sore

Swete lemmon, thench on me

Ich have loved thee yore Swete lemmon, I preye thee

Of love one speche

Whil I live in world so wide

Other nulle I seche

With thy love, my swete leof

My bliss thou mightest eche

A swete cos of thy mouth

Mighte be my leche Swete lemmon, I preye thee

Of a love-bene

If thou me lovest, as men says

Lemmon as I wene

And if it thy wille be

Thou loke that it be sene

So muchel I thenke upon thee

That all I waxe grene