Evermore Thanks, The Exchequer Of The Poor

What Drink'st Thou Oft, Instead Of Homage Sweet, But Poisoned Flattery?

He's A Soldier; And For One To Say A Soldier Lies, Is Stabbing.

When Daisies Pied And Violets Blue And Lady-smocks All Silver-white And Cuckoo-buds Of Yellow Hue Do Paint The Meadows With Delight, The Cuckoo Then, On Every Tree, Mocks Married Men; For Thus Sings He, Cuckoo; Cuckoo, Cuckoo; O, Word Of Fear, Unpleasing To A Married Ear.

Who Could Refrain That Had A Heart To Love And In That Heart Courage To Make Love Known?

Open Thy Gate Of Mercy, Gracious God, My Soul Flies Through These Wounds To Seek Out Thee.