5
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,
the King did often say,
Because, said she, to bloody wars
my lord must pass away.
But since your Grace in foreign parts,
among your foes unkind
⟨Must⟩ go to hazard life and limb,
why must I stay behind?
⟨Nay⟩, rather let me, like a page,
thy sword and target bear,
That on my breast the blow may light,
that would offend my dear.
let me in your royal tent
prepare your bed at night,
And with sweet baths refresh you there,
as you return from fight.
⟨If⟩ I your presence may enjoy,
no toil I will refuse;
But wanting you my life is death,
which doth true love abuse.
Content thyself, my dearest love,
thy rest at home shall be
England's sweet and pleasing court,
for travels fit not thee.
