Why should I be bound to thee,

O my lovely mirtle tree?

Love, free love, cannot be bound

To any tree that grows upon the ground.

-

O, how sick and weary I

Underneath my mirtle lie,

Like to dung upon the ground

Underneath my mirtle bound.

-

Oft my mirtle sigh'd in vain

To behold my heavy chain

Oft my father saw us sigh,

And laugh'd at our simplicity.

-

So I smote him and his gore

Stain'd the roots my mirtle bore.

But the time of youth is fled,

And grey hairs are on my head.