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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.