4
For I must leave my fairest Rose,
My sweetest Rose a space,
And cross the ocean into France,
Proud rebels to debase.
But still my Rose, be sure thou shalt
My coming shortly see,
And in my heart, when hence I am,
I'll bear my Rose with me.
When Rosamond, the lady bright,
Did hear the King say so,
The sorrows of her grieved heart,
Her outward looks did show,
And from her clear and crystal eyes
The tears gush’d out apace,
Which like the silver pearly dew
Ran down her comely face.
Her lips like to the coral red
Did wax both wan and pale,
And for the sorrow she conceiv’d,
Her vital spirits fail.
And falling down into a swoon
Before King Henry’s face,
Full oft within his princely arms
Her body did embrace.
And twenty times with wat’ry eyes
He kiss’d her tender cheek,
Until he had reviv’d again
Her spirit, mild and meek.
Why grieves my Rose? my sweetest Rose,
