Ballets and Madrigals to five voices

To shorten winter's sadness
See where the nymphs with gladness
Disguisèd all are coming,
Right wantonly a-mumming.
                   Fa la.

Though masks encloud their beauty,
Yet give the eye her duty,
When Heaven is dark it shineth
And unto love inclineth.
                   Fa la.

Whilst youthful sports are lasting,
To feasting turn our fasting;
With revels and with wassails
Make grief and care our vasals.
                   Fa la.

For youth it well beseemeth
That pleasure he esteemeth;
And sullen age is hated
That mirth would have abated.
                   Fa la.

Sweet Love, I will no more abuse thee,
Nor with my voice accuse thee;
But tune my notes unto thy praise
And tell the world Love ne’er decays.
Sweet Love doth concord ever cherish:
What wanteth concord soon must perish.

Now is my Chloris fresh as May,
Clad all in green and flowers gay.
        Fa la la!
O might I think August were near
That harvest joy might soon appear.
        Fa la la!
But she keeps May throughout the year,
And August never comes the near.
        Fa la la!
Yet will I hope, though she be May,
August will come another day.
        Fa la la!

Welcome, sweet pleasure,
My wealth and treasure;
To haste our playing
There’s no delaying,
        No no!
This mirth delights me
When sorrow frights me.
  Then sing we all
        Fa la la la la!

Sorrow, content thee,
Mirth must prevent thee:
Though much thou grievest
Thou none relievest.
        No no!
Joy, come delight me,
Though sorrow spite me.
  Then sing we all
        Fa la la la la!

Grief is disdainful,
Sottish and painful:
Then wait on pleasure,
And lose no leisure.
        No no!
Heart’s ease it lendeth
And comfort sendeth.
  Then sing we all
        Fa la la la la!

Farewell, my joy!
  Adieu, my love and pleasure!
To sport and toy
  We have no longer leisure.
        Fa la la!

Farewell, adieu
  Until our next consorting!
Sweet love, be true!
  And thus we end our sporting.
        Fa la la!

We shepherds sing, we pipe, we play,
With pretty sport we pass the day:
    Fa la!
We care for no gold,
But with our fold
We dance
And prance
As pleasure would.
    Fa la!

Sweet heart, arise! why do you sleep
When lovers wanton sports do keep?
The sun doth shine, the birds do sing,
And May delight and joy doth bring:
Then join we hands and dance till night,
’Tis pity love should want his right.

In pride of May
The fields are gay,
The birds do sweetly sing. Fa la la!
  So Nature would
  That all things should
With joy begin the spring. Fa la la!

Then, Lady dear,
Do you appear
In beauty like the spring: Fa la la!
  I dare well say
  The birds that day
More cheerfully will sing. Fa la la!

On the plains, airy trains
Were a-treading measures;
Satyrs played; fairies stayed,
At the stops set leisures.
Nymphs begin to come in,
Quickly, thick and threefold;
Now they dance, now they prance,
Present there to behold.