Was that white hand, I wonder,
in lover’s fashion press’d?
In sign of tender wooing?
in sooth ’twas ne’er confess’d.
But scarce can I believe that
such chance had been let go;
For she her kindness to him
did very quickly show.
Was that white hand, I wonder,
in lover’s fashion press’d?
In sign of tender wooing?
in sooth ’twas ne’er confess’d.
But scarce can I believe that
such chance had been let go;
For she her kindness to him
did very quickly show.