Fair love, let us go play:
Apples ben ripe in my gardayne.
I shall thee clothe in a new array,
Thy meat shall be milk, honey and wine.
Fair love, let us go dine:
Thy sustenance is in my crippe,⁶ lo!
Tarry thou not, my fair spouse mine,
    Quia amore langueo.

If thou be foul, I shall thee make clean;
If thou be sick, I shall thee heal;
If thou mourn ought, I shall thee mene;⁷
Why wilt thou not, fair love, with me deal?
Foundest thou ever love so leal?
What wilt thou, soul, that I shall do?
I may not unkindly thee appeal,
    Quia amore langueo.

What shall I do now with my spouse
But abide her of my gentleness,
Till that she look out of her house
Of fleshly affection? love mine she is;
Her bed is made, her bolster is bliss,
Her chamber is chosen; is there none mo.
Look out on me at the window of kindeness,
    Quia amore langueo.

My love is in her chamber: hold your peace!
Make ye no noise, but let her sleep.
My babe I would not were in disease,
I may not hear my dear child weep.
With my pap I shall her keep;
Ne marvel ye not though I tend her to:
This wound in my side had ne’er been so deep
    But Quia amore langueo.

Long thou for love never so high,
My love is more than thine may be.
Thou weepest, thou gladdest, I sit thee by:
Yet wouldst thou once, love, look unto me!
Should I always feede thee
With children meat? Nay, love, not so!
I will prove thy love with adversitàe,
     Quia amore langueo.

Wax not weary, mine own wife!
What mede is aye to live in comfort?
In tribulation I reign more rife
Ofter times than in disport.
In weal and in woe I am aye to support:
Mine own wife, go not me fro!
Thy mede is marked, when thou art mort:
     Quia amore langueo.

30   Snatches

[? Wm. Cornish]

(i)

Latet Anguis

16th Century

YOU and I and Amyas,
Amyas and you and I,
To the green-wood must we go, alas!
You and I, my lyf, and Amyas

(ii)

Bridal Morning

15th-16th Cent.

The maidens came
When I was in my mother’s bower;
   I had all that I would.
   The bailey beareth the bell away
   The lily, the rose, the rose I lay.

The silver is white, red is the gold;
The robes they lay in fold.
   The bailey beareth the lull away;
   The lily, the rose, the rose I lay.

And thro the glass window shines the sun.
How should I love, and I so young?
   The bailey beareth the lull away;
   The lily, the rose, the rose I lay.

31   The Lover in Winter Plaineth for
                                                    the Spring

16th Cent.(?)