Henry

You call me fickle, cruel youth,

And doubt my love and constancy,

But sure that tongue is void of truth,

That speaks and falsely speaks of me,

Henry!

You tell me blushes flush my cheek,

When others to my praise incline?

Oh yes and why I'll truly speak,

Because I hate all praise but thine,

Henry!

Then hush, ah hush, each idle fear

And bid each jealous pain adieu,

My heart, my soul is thine my dear,

I live and only live for you,

Henry!