Woods, rocks and mountains

Woods, rocks and mountains and ye desert places

Where nought but bitter cold and hunger dwells,

Hear a poor maid's last will, killed with disgraces.

Slide softly whilst I sing, you silver fountains.

And let your hollow waters like sad bells

Ring to my woes, whilst miserable I,

Cursing my fortunes, drop a tear and die.

Griefs, woes, and groanings, hopes and all such lies

I give to broken hearts that daily weep;

To all poor maids in love, my lost desiring.

Sleep sweetly while I sing my bitter moaning,

And last, my hollow lovers that ne'er keep

Truth in their hearts; while miserable I1,

Cursing my fortunes, drop a tear and die.