By Geoffrey Chaucer
Ros 1 Madame, ye ben of al beaute shryne
Ros 2 As fer as cercled is the mapamounde,
Ros 3 For as the cristal glorious ye shyne,
Ros 4 And lyke ruby ben your chekes rounde.
Ros 5 Therwith ye ben so mery and so jocounde
Ros 6 That at a revel whan that I see you daunce,
Ros 7 It is an oynement unto my wounde,
Ros 8 Thogh ye to me ne do no daliaunce.
Ros 9 For thogh I wepe of teres ful a tyne,
Ros 10 Yet may that wo myn herte nat confounde;
Ros 11 Your semy voys that ye so smal out twyne
Ros 12 Maketh my thoght in joy and blis habounde.
Ros 13 So curtaysly I go with love bounde
Ros 14 That to myself I sey in my penaunce,
Ros 15 “Suffyseth me to love you, Rosemounde,
Ros 16 Thogh ye to me ne do no daliaunce.”
Ros 17 Nas never pyk walwed in galauntyne
Ros 18 As I in love am walwed and ywounde,
Ros 19 For which ful ofte I of myself devyne
Ros 20 That I am trewe Tristam the secounde.
Ros 21 My love may not refreyde nor affounde,
Ros 22 I brenne ay in an amorous plesaunce.
Ros 23 Do what you lyst, I wyl your thral be founde,
Ros 24 Thogh ye to me ne do no daliaunce.