[To a lovely mirtle bound
Blossoms showring all around]
O how sick & weary I
Underneath my mirtle lie
Like to dung upon the ground
Underneath my mirtle bound

Why should I be bound to thee
O my lovely mirtle tree
Love free love cannot be bound
To any tree that grows on ground

Oft my mirtle sighd in vain
To behold my heavy chain
Oft [the priest beheld] my father saw us sigh
And laughd at our simplicity

So I smote him & his gore
Staind the roots my mirtle bore
But the time of youth is fled
And grey hairs are on my head