Moſt curioſly that bower was built,
of ſtone and timber ſtrong.
An hundred and fifty doors,
did to this bower belong.
And they ſo cunningly contriv’d,
with turnings round about,
That none without a clue of thread,
could enter in or out.
Now for his love and lady’s ſake,
who was both fair and bright,
The keeping of this bower he gave,
unto a valiant Knight.
But fortune that doth often frown,
where it before did ſmile
The king’s delight the lady’s 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 farewel thus he took:
My Roſamond, my only Roſe,
who pleaſeth beſt mine eye.
The faireſt flower in all the world,
to feed my phantaſy.
