That's left with thee the while,
But hopes that fortune is our friend
Already pays the toil.

Force bids me go, your friends to please.
Would they were not so high!
But be my lot on land or seas,
It matters not where by,
For I shall keep a thought for thee,
In my heart's core to lie.

Winter shall lose its frost and snow,
The spring its blossomed thorn,
The summer all its bloom forego,
The autumn hound and horn
Ere I will lose that thought of thee,
Or ever prove forsworn.

The dove shall change a hawk in kind,
The cuckoo change its tune,
The nightingale at Christmas sing,
The fieldfare come in June--
Ere I do change my love for thee
These things shall change as soon.

So keep your heart at ease, my love,
Nor waste a joy for me:
I'll ne'er prove false to thee, my love,
Till fish drown in the sea,
And birds forget to fly, my love,