Am
Of Lancelot du Lake
   
Em
tell i no more
But this by leave
    
Am
     
Em
these ermytes seven.
Am
But still Kynge Arthur
     
Em
lieth there, and Quene Guenever,
  
Am
   
Em
As I you newyn.
   
Am
And Monkes
       
Em
That are right of lore
   
Am
            
Em
Who synge with moulded stewyn
 
Am
         
Em
Ihesu, who hath woundes sore,
    
Dm
           
Em
Grant us the blyss of Heaven.