Go talk to her, sweet flower, br To whom I fain would talk br Tell her I hour by hour br Pine on my own poor stalk. br br Tell her that I should live br Not quite so sore distressed, br If she to you would give br A throne upon her breast. br br Tell her that should she hie br To my parched plot to see br If I be dead, that I br No more should withered be. br br If I were dead, her feet br My spirit would revive, br As may her bosom sweet br Keep you, sweet flower, alive.