O Plasmatour, that thou end not the night,

Nor take my belovéd from my sight,

Nor I, nor tower-man, look on daylight,

’Fore God, How swift the night,

And day comes on.

“Lovely thou art, to hold me close and kisst,

Now cry the birds out, in the meadow mist,

Despite the cuckold, do thou as thou list,

So swiftly goes the night

And day comes on.

“My pretty boy, make we our play again

Here in the orchard where the birds complain,

’Till the traist watcher his song unrein,

Ah God! How swift the night

And day comes on.”

“Out of the wind that blows from her,

That dancing and gentle is and Thereby pleasanter,

Have I drunk a draught, sweeter than scent of myrrh.

Ah God! How swift the night.

And day comes on.”

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