True loves are often sown, but seldom grow on ground.
To be wise and eke to love, Is granted scarce to gods above.
Gather therefore the Rose, whilst yet is prime, For soon comes age, that will her pride deflower: Gather the Rose of love, whilst yet is time.
Make haste therefore, sweet love, whilst it is prime, For none can call again the passed time.
My Love is like to ice, and I to fire: How comes it then that this her cold so great Is not dissolved through my so hot desire, But harder grows the more I her entreat?
Such is the power of love in gentle mind, That it can alter all the course of kind.
All love is sweet Given or returned And its familiar voice wearies not ever.
Fresh spring the herald of love's mighty king.
So let us love, dear Love, like as we ought; Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught.
All for love, and nothing for reward.
She heard with patience all unto the end, / And strove to maister sorrowful assay, / Which greater grew, the more she did contend; / And almost rent her tender hart in tway / And love fresh coles unto her fire did lay: / For greater love, the greater is the losse...
Be judge ye heavens, that all things right esteeme, / How I him loved, and love with all my might, / So thought I eke of him, and thinke I thought aright.