5
Why grieves my Rose? my sweetest Rose
the king did often say
Because said she to bloody wars
my lord must pass away.
But since your grace in foreign parts
amongst your foes unkind
Must go to hazard life and lamb
why must I stay behind?
Nay rather let me like a page
thy sword and target bear
That on my breast the blow may light
that should offend my dear
O let me in your royal tent
prepare your bed at night
And with sweet baths refresh you there
as you return from fight
So I your presence will enjoy
no toil I will refuse:
But wanting you my life is death
which doth true love abuse
Content thyself my dearest love
thy ⟨rest⟩ at home shall be
In England's sweet and pleasing court
for travels fit not thee.
Fair ladies brook not bloody wars
sweet peace their pleasure breed
The nourisher of hearts content
whose fancy first did feed.
