Her eyes are kind; her lips are warm;
    And like a flower her face is;
The habit shows her bonny form
    As graceful as a Grace’s.

O I’ll be mad of love, I know;
    My head she’ll surely addle;
O Cupid, Cupid; get your bow;
    And shoot her from the saddle!

For, like a bird on breezes waft,
    She quickly, quickly passes;
O Cupid, Cupid, draw your shaft;
    And bring her to the grasses!

O she is worthy game for you;
    And there is none to match her.
So, Cupid, send your arrow true;
    And I’ll be there to catch her!