When the nightegale singes And the wodes waxen grene Lef and grass and blosme springes In Averil, I wene (And) love is to min herte gon With one spere so kene Night and day my blod it drinkes Min herte deth me tene
Ich have loved all this year That I may love namore Ich have siked mony sik Lemmon, for thin ore Me nis love never the ner And that me reweth sore Swete lemmon, thench on me Ich have loved thee yore
Swete lemmon, I preye thee Of love one speche Whil I live in world so wide Other nulle I seche With thy love, my swete leof My bliss thou mightest eche A swete cos of thy mouth Mighte be my leche
Swete lemmon, I preye thee Of a love-bene If thou me lovest, as men says Lemmon as I wene And if it thy wille be Thou loke that it be sene So muchel I thenke upon thee That all I waxe grene