The poem
Come, come away Or let me go; Must I here stay Because you're slow, And will continue so; --Troth, lady, no.
I scorn to be A slave to state; And since I'm free, I will not wait, Henceforth at such a rate, For needy fate.
If you desire My spark should glow, The peeping fire You must blow; Or I shall quickly grow To frost, or snow.