Classic Poem

LXXXIII

Lover: It burneth yet, alas, my heart's desire.
Lady: What is the thing that hath inflamed thy heart?
Lover: A certain point, as fervent as the fire.
Lady: The heat shall cease if that thou wilt convert.
Lover: I cannot stop the fervent raging ire.
Lady: What may I do if thyself cause thy smart?
Lover: Hear my request and rue my weeping cheer.
Lady: With right good will. Say on. Lo, I thee hear.

Lover: That thing would I that maketh two content.
Lady: Thou seekest, perchance, of me that I may not.
Lover: Would God thou wouldst, as thou mayst well, assent.
Lady: That I may not. Thy grief is mine, God wot.
Lover: But I it feel, whatso thy words have meant.
Lady: Suspect me not. My words be not forgot.
Lover: Then say, alas, shall I have help or no?
Lady: I see no time to answer. Yea. But no.

Lover: Say yea, dear heart, and stand no more in doubt.
Lady: I may not grant a thing that is so dear.
Lover: Lo, with delays thou drives me still about.
Lady: Thou wouldest my death. It plainly doth appear.
Lover: First may my heart his blood and life bleed out.
Lady: Then for my sake, alas, thy will forbear.
Lover: From day to day thus wastes my life away.
Lady: Yet, for the best, suffer some small delay.

Lover: Now, good, say yea. Do once so good a deed.
Lady: If I said yea, what should thereof ensue?
Lover: An heart in pain, of succour so should speed.
'Twixt yea and nay my doubt shall still renew.
My sweet, say yea and do away this dread.
Lady: Thou wilt needs so. Be it so. But then be true.
Lover: Naught would I else, nor other treasure none.

Thus hearts be won by love, request, and moan.