What shall I sing to thee, my king?
My king of love!
Shall I sing thee a song of how love is born?
Shall I sing thee a song how my heart is torn?
How a glance from an eye, from a stranger's eye
Can cause a poor maiden to faint, to die?
'Tis true, my king, 'tis true, my king of love!
What wilt thou sing, or say, my king,
To me thy queen,
Wilt thou say that a love that is lightly won
Is a love that will die with the setting sun?
That a love that is sudden is never wise,
That what is born quickly as quickly dies?
'Tis false, my king, 'tis false, my king of love.