Have you seen but a white lily grow?

Have you seen but a whyte Lilie grow

before rude hands had touch'd it;

Have you mark'd but the fall of the snow

before the Earth hath smucht it.

Have you felt the wool of Beaver,

Or Swansdown ever;

or have smelt of the Bud of the Bryer,

Or the Nard in the fire;

Or have tasted the Bag of the Bee;

O so whyte, O so soft, O so sweet, so sweet,

so sweet is she!

O so whyte, O so soft, O so sweet,

so sweet, so sweet is she!