Betrayed

Dream not of love, to think it like         What waking love may prove to be,         For I dreamed so and broke my heart,         When my false lover slighted me.         Love, like to flowers, is sweet when green;         The rose in bud aye best appears;         And she that loves a handsome man         Should have more wit than she has years.         I put my finger in a bush,         Thinking the sweeter rose to find;         I pricked my finger to the bone,         And left the sweetest rose behind.         I threw a stone into the sea,         And deep it sunk into the sand,         And so did my poor heart in me         When my false lover left the land.         I watched the sun an hour too soon         Set into clouds behind the town;         So my false lover left, and said         "Good night" before the day was down.         I cropt a lily from the stalk,         And in my hand it died away;         So did my joy, so will my heart,         In false love's cruel grasp decay.