Hark how the wild musicians sing
A welcome to the new-born spring,
And in sweet strains, untaught by art,
Unto the wood their joys impart. 

Look how the fields, clad in a flow'ry dress,
Seem to forget their winter nakedness. 
See, fairest, how the budding trees
Put on their summer liveries,
And deck themselves in green array,
To wait upon the youthful May. 

Pleas'd Nature, thus dress'd up in all her charms,
Smiles like a bride clasp'd in her lover's arms. 
Then why, Dorinda, should not we
Rejoice like them, and happy be?

Let's, whilst the Spring of youth doth last,
Strive to redeem lost minutes past. 
We'll freely feast love's eager appetite
With joys to which beauty and youth invite. 

Though now your eyes are all divine
Their lustre will in time decline.
If smiling Youth goes off the stage
The scene will change to wither'd Age.

When all your charms, Dorinda, will decay,
And on a sudden vanish all away. 
Then let us not waste the dear minutes that Love
Has allotted for pleasure, and bids us improve.

To yonder cool shade, my Dorinda, we will fly;
Whilst there in each other's embraces we lie,
We shall pity dull mortals that never did know
The greatest of blessings the gods can bestow.