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