Pray you, mark. Sings.

White his shroud as the mountain snow⁠—

Sings.

Larded with sweet flowers; Which bewept to the grave did go With true-love showers.

Pray you, let’s have no words of this; but when they ask you what it means, say you this: Sings.

To-morrow is Saint Valentine’s day, All in the morning betime, And I a maid at your window, To be your Valentine. Then up he rose, and donn’d his clothes, And dupp’d the chamber-door; Let in the maid, that out a maid Never departed more.