Ay me; can every rumour
Thus start my lady's humour?
Name ye some gallant to her
Why straight forsooth I woo her.
Then burst she forth in passion:
You men love but for fashion.
Yet sure I am that no man
Ever so loved woman.
Yet, alas, Love, be wary
For women be contrary.
More verses by John Wilbye
- Change Me, O Heav'Ns
- Dear Pity, How, Ah!
- Die, Hapless Man
- Down In A Valley As Alexis Trips
- Happy Streams, Whose Trembling Fall