3
And they so cunningly contriv’d,
With turnings round about,
That none without a clue of thread,
Could enter in our out.
Now for his love, and lady's sake,
Who was both fair and bright:
The keeping of the bower he gave,
Unto a valiant knight.
But fortune that doth often frown,
Where it before did smile,
The kings delight, the lady's joy,
Full soon she did beguile.
For why the kings ungracious son,
Whom he did high advance,
Against his father raised wars,
Within the realms of France,
But yet before our gracious king,
The English land forsook,
Of Rosamond his lady fair,
His farewell thus he took,
My Rosamond, my only Rose,
Who pleaseth best mine eye,
The fairest flower in all the world,
To feed my phantasy.
The flower of my afflicted heart,
Why sweetness doth excel;
My royal Rose an hundred times,
I bid you now farewell.
For I must leave my fairest rose,
My sweetest rose apace,
And cross the ocean into France,
