Alas my love I’m a minute late,
But tell me, love, that thou forgive me;
Alas, show me not that cruel is fate,
Say that thou forgive – that I may live.
Forgive me, sweetheart, Rose of the morn,
Why refuseth thou to look at me?
Why doth thou turn from me with such scorn?
Yea, put away that look and kiss me.