First Book of Ballets to Five Voices

Sing we and chant it 
While love doth grant it.
Not long youth lasteth,
And old age hasteth. 
Now is best leisure 
To take our pleasure.
All things invite us
Now to delight us.
Hence, care, be packing!
No mirth be lacking!
Let spare no treasure
To live in pleasure.

Thus saith my Galatea:
  Love long hath been deluded,
  When shall it be concluded?

The young nymphs all are wedded:
  Ah, then why do I tarry?
  Oh, let me die or marry.

About the maypole new, with glee and merriment,
  While as the bagpipe tooted it,
  Thyrsis and Chloris fine together footed it:
And to the joyous instrument
  Still they went to and fro, and finely flaunted it,
  And then both met again and thus they chaunted it.
            Fa la!

The shepherds and the nymphs them round enclosèd had,
  Wond’ring with what facility,
  About they turn’d them in such strange agility;
And still when they unloosèd had,
  With words full of delight they gently kissed them,
  And thus sweetly to sing they never missed them.
            Fa la!

You that wont to my pipe’s sound
Daintily to tread your ground,
Jolly shepherds and nymphs sweet,
    (Lirum, lirum.)

Here met together
Under the weather,
Hand in hand uniting,
The lovely god come greet.
    (Lirum, lirum)

Lo, triumphing, brave comes he,
All in pomp and majesty,
Monarch of the world and king.
    (Lirum, lirum.)

Let whoso list him
Dare to resist him,
We our voices uniting,
Of his high acts will sing.
    (Lirum, lirum.)

Now is the month of maying,
When merry lads are playing, fa la,
Each with his bonny lass
Upon the greeny grass. Fa la.

The Spring, clad all in gladness,
Doth laugh at Winter's sadness, fa la,
And to the bagpipe's sound
The nymphs tread out their ground. Fa la

Fie then! why sit we musing,
Youth's sweet delight refusing? Fa la.
Say dainty nymphs, and speak,
Shall we play barley-break? Fa la.

Shoot, false Love! I care not;
Spend thy shafts and spare not!
   Fa la la!
I fear not, I, thy might,
And less I weigh thy spite;
All naked I unarm me, —
If thou canst, now shoot and harm me!
So lightly I esteem thee
As now a child I dream thee.
   Fa la la la!

Long thy bow did fear1 me,
While thy pomp did blear me;
   Fa la la!
But now I do perceive
Thy art is to deceive;
And every simple lover
All thy falsehood can discover.
Then weep, Love! and be sorry,
For thou hast lost thy glory.
   Fa la la la!