Love in my bosom like a bee
Doth suck his sweet;

Now with his wings he plays with me,
Now with his feet.
Within mine eyes he makes a nest,
His bed admidst my tender breast;

My kisses are his daily feast
And yet he robs me of my rest;

Ah! Wanton, will ye?
And if I sleep, then percheth he
With pretty flight,
And makes his pillow of my knee
The livelong night.
Strike I the lute, he tunes the string;

He music plays if so I sing,
He lends me every lovely thing,
Yet cruel he my heart doth sting;

Whist wanton, still ye!
Else I with roses everyday
Will whip you hence,
And bind you, when you long to play,
For your offence.
I'll shut mine eyes to keep you in;

I'll make you fast it for your sin;

I'll count your power not worth a pin.
----Alas! What hereby shall I win
If he gainsay me?
What if I beat the wanton boy
With many a rod?
He will repay me with annoy,
Because a god.
The sit thou safely on my knee;

Then let thy bower my bosom be;

Lurk in mine eyes, I like of thee;

O Cupid, so thou pity me,
Spare not, but play thee!

Penned by my hand on the 25th of Valnuary, in the year 414 AF.