6
My rose shall rest in Woodstock bower,
With music's sweet delight,
While I among the piercing pikes,
Against the foes do fight.
My rose in robes of pearl and gold,
With dimands rich and bright,
Shall dance the galliards of my love,
While I my foes do smite.
And you, Sir Thomas, whom I trust,
To be my love's defence;
Be careful of my gallant rose,
When I am parted hence.
And here withal he fetch'd a sigh,
As though his heart would break,
And Rosamond for very grief,
Not one plain word could speak.
And at their parting well they might,
In heart be grieved sore,
After that day, fair Rosamond
The King did ne'er see more.
For when his grace passed the seas,
And into France was gone,
Queen Eleanor with envious heart,
To Woodstock came anon.
And forth she calls the trusty knight,
Who kept this curious bower;
And with a clue of twisted thread,
Come from this famous flower.
