Sweet Love, if thou wilt gain

Sweet Love, if thou wilt gain a Monarch's glory,

Subdue her heart, who makes me glad and sorry.

Out of thy golden quiver

Take thou thy strongest arrow

That will through bone and marrow

And me and thee

Of grief and fear deliver.

But come behind, for if she look upon thee,

Alas, poor Love, then thou art woe-begone thee.