Still, I would not have thee cold,
Not too backward, nor too bold;
Love that lasteth till tis old
If thou lovest me too much,
It will not prove as true as touch;
Love me little, more than such,
I am with little well content,
And a little from thee sent
Is enough, with true intent
Say thou lov'st me while thou live;
I to thee my love will give,
Never dreaming to deceive
Nay, and after death, in sooth,
I to thee will keep my truth,
As now, when in my May of youth;
Constant love is moderate ever,
And it will through life persever;
Give me that, with true endeavor
A suit of durance let it be,
For all weathers that for me,
For the land or for the sea,
Winter's cold, or summer's heat,
Autumn's tempests on it beat,
It can never know defeat,
Such the love that I would gain,
Such the love, I tell thee plain,
Though must give, or woo in vain;
