5 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, Amongst 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. O, let me in your royal tent Prepare your bed at night, And with sweet baths refresh yon there, As you return from fight. So I your presence will enjoy, No toil I will refuse ; But wanting you my life is death, Which doth true love abuso. Content thyself, my dearest love Thy rest at home shall be, In England's sweet and pleasing court, For travels fit not thee. Fair ladies brook not bloody wars, Sweet peace their pleasure breed, The nourisher of heart's content, Whose fancy first doth feed.
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