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.