3
Most curiously the bower was built,
Of stone and timber strong,
An hundred and fifty doors,
Did to this tower belong.
And they so cunningly contriv'd,
With turnings round about,
That none without a clue of threa
Could enter in or 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 king's delight, the ladys joy
Full soon she did beguile.
For why the king's 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.
