Het vinnigh straalen van de son

I'll hie me to the forest now,
The sun shines bright in glory;
And of our courtship every bough
Perchance may tell the story.

Our courtship? No! Our courtship? Yes!
There's folly in believing;
For of a hundred youths, I guess
(O shame!) they're all deceiving.

A gaysome swain is wandering still,
New pleasures seeking ever;
And longer than his wanton will
His love endureth never.

My heart beats hard against my breast,
So hard—can I confide now?
No! confidence might break my rest,
And faith will not be tried now.

Oft in the crowd we trip and fall,
And who escape are fewest:
I hear my own deliverer call—
Of all the true the truest.

But, silly maiden! look around,
And see thy cherish'd treasure;
Who rests or tarries never found
And ne'er deserved a pleasure.

Should he disclose his love to me
Whilst in this forest straying,
Were there a tongue in every tree,
What might they not be saying!