Flora wilt thou torment me, And yet must I content me. And shall I have no pleasure, Of that thy beauty's treasure. Lo then I die and dying thus complain me, Flora gentle and fair, Alas hath slain me.
Flora wilt thou torment me, And yet must I content me. And shall I have no pleasure, Of that thy beauty's treasure. Lo then I die and dying thus complain me, Flora gentle and fair, Alas hath slain me.