Yea, he inside whose grasp all night
⁠Her fervent body leapt or lay,
Stained with sharp kisses red and white,
⁠Found her a plague to spurn away.

I hid her in this wattled house,
⁠I served her water and poor bread.
For joy to kiss between her brows
⁠Time upon time I was nigh dead.

Bread failed; we got but well-water
⁠And gathered grass with dropping seed.
I had such joy of kissing her,
⁠I had small care to sleep or feed.

Sometimes when service made me glad
⁠The sharp tears leapt between my lids,
Falling on her, such joy I had
⁠To do the service God forbids.

"I pray you let me be at peace,
⁠Get hence, make room for me to die."
She said that: her poor lip would cease,
⁠Put up to mine, and turn to cry.

I said, "Bethink yourself how love
⁠Fared in us twain, what either did;
Shall I unclothe my soul thereof?
⁠That I should do this, God forbid."