When Rosamond, that lady bright, 65 Did heare the king say so, The sorrow of her greeved heart Her outward lookes did show. And from her cleare and cristall eyes The teares gusht out apace, 70 Which, like the silver-pearled deaw, Ran downe her comely face. Her lippes, like to a corrall red, Did waxe both wan and pale, And for the sorrow she conceived 75 Her vitall spirits did fayle. And falling downe all in a swound[L77] Before King Henries face, Full oft betweene his princely armes Her corpes he did imbrace. 80 And twenty times, with waterie eyes, He kist her tender cheeke, Untill she had received againe[L83] Her senses milde and meeke. "Why grieves my Rose, my sweetest Rose?" 85 The king did ever say: "Because," quoth she, "to bloody warres My lord must part away. "But sithe your Grace in forraine coastes, Among your foes unkind, 90 Must go to hazard life and limme, Why should I stay behind? "Nay, rather let me, like a page, Your sword and target beare;[L94] That on my breast the blow may light, 95 Which should annoy you there. "O let me, in your royall tent, Prepare your bed at night, And with sweet baths refresh your grace, At your returne from fight. 100 "So I your presence may enjoy, No toyle I will refuse;[L102] But wanting you, my life is death: Which doth true love abuse." "Content thy selfe, my dearest friend, 105 Thy rest at home shall bee, In England's sweete and pleasant soyle;[L107] For travaile fits not thee. "Faire ladyes brooke not bloody warres; Sweete peace their pleasures breede, 110 The nourisher of hearts content, Which fancie first doth feede. "My Rose shall rest in Woodstocke bower, With musickes sweete delight, While I among the pierceing pikes 115 Against my foes do fight. "My Rose in robes of pearl and gold,[L117] With diamonds richly dight, Shall daunce the galliards of my love, While I my foes do smite. 120 "And you, Sir Thomas, whom I trust To be my loves defence,[L122] Be carefull of my gallant Rose When I am parted hence." And therewithall he fetcht a sigh, 125 As though his heart would breake: And Rosamond, for inward griefe, Not one plaine word could speake.