Come, you whose loves are dead

Come, you whose loves are dead,

And whiles I sing,

Weep and wring

Ev'ry hand, ev'ry head

Bind with cypress and sad yew,

Ribbons black and candles blue,

For him that was of men most true.

Come with heavy moaning,

And on his grave

Let him have

Sacrifice of sighs and groaning.

Let him have fair flow'rs enow,

White and purple, green and yellow,

For him that was of men most true.