Behold a jocund morn indeed

Sun on high - birds in sky

Yonder the whist eathing

Fro where a gale erranteth

(Ye beholdest but the shadow) That is a lie

(Mayhap a tithe of trothplight) Lief I am not

(I deem - e'er and anon!) My words are but a twist

'Tis a feignéd lie through loathing, I say

To and fro, save hither, is thy love

A dotard gaffer, I daresay

Not a loth! - But vying for my kinsmen

A sapling not

Beautiful tyrant

Fiend angelical

Dove-feathered raven

Wolvish-ravening lamb

A hamlet for a slothful vassal

Soothing ale for a parchèd sot

Hie to tell me

What ye judgest as naught

I behold the shadow

Wherefore call me such names

Nay imp am I

Thou art my aghast hart

Grazing in the glade

(E'er thou sayest aye!) That is a lie

(Thief of a plot!) Lief I am not

(Now go to thy tryst) My words are but a twist

(Go, leave, totter) Fare well! With joy I came

(Until ye dwindlest) With rue I leave

(A morsel, nay more) Even the orb

(For thy journey hither and thiter) Cannot help me melt the ice

Cannot help me melt the ice

Cannot helpme melt the ice