Passing By
There is a lady sweet and kind; 'twas never face so pleased my mind,
I did but see her passing by, and yet I love her, 'til I die.
Her gestures, motions, and her smile, Her wit, her voice, my heart beguile.
Beguile my heart, I know not why, an dyet I love her, 'til I die.
Cupid is winged and doth range her country, so my heart doth change,
But change the earth or change the sky, yet will I love her, 'til I die