I
Sir Tristram lay by a well,
       Making sad moan;
Fast his tears tell,
For wild the wood through,
       Stricken with shrewd
       Sorrow, he ran,
When he deemed her untrue --
       La Beale Isoud!
For he loved her alone.

	II
So as he lay,
       Wasted and wan,
       Scarce like a man,
Pricking that way
       His lady-love came,
          With her damsels around,
       And her face all a-flame
With the breezes of May;
While a brachet beside her
Still bayed the fair rider,
       Still leaped up and bayed her;
          A small scenting hound
       That Sir Tristram purveyed her.

	III
So she rode on;
      But the brachet behind
      Hung snuffing the wind,
         Till seeking and crying
            Faster and faster,
         Beside the well lying
            She found her dear master!
        Then licking his ears
        And cheeks wet with tears, 
            For joy never resting
            Kept whining and questing.

	IV
Isoud (returned
        Seeking her hound)
Soon as she learned
        Tristram was found,
Straightway alighting, 
        Fell in a swound.

	V
Won by her lover
Thence to recover,
Who shall the greeting
Tell of their meeting?
Joy, by no tongue
E'er to be sung
Passed in that plighting!

	VI
        Thus while they dallied,
        Forth the wood sallied
An horrible libbard, and bare
The brachet away to his lair!