The birds sang sweet as ony bell,
The world had not their make,
The queen she's gone to her chamber,
With Rodingham to talk.

"I love you well, my queen, my dame,
"'Bove land and rents so clear
"And for the love of you, my queen,
"Would thole pain most severe."

"If well you love me, Rodingham,
"I'm sure so do I thee:
"I love you well as any man,
"Save the king's fair bodye."

"I love you well, my queen, my dame;
"'Tis truth that I do tell:
"And for to lye a night with you,
"The salt seas I would sail."

"Away, away, O Rodingham!
"You are both stark and stoor;
"Would you defile the king's own bed,
"And make his queen a whore?

"To-morrow you'd be taken sure,
"And like a traitor slain;
"And I'd be burned at a stake,
"Altho' I be the queen."