Ye have been fresh and green,
  Ye have been filled with flowers;
And ye the walks have been
  Where maids have spent their houres.

You have beheld how they
  With wicker arks did come,
To kisse and beare away
  The richer couslips home.

Y'ave heard them sweetly sing.
  And seen them in a round;
Each virgin, like a spring,
  With hony-succles crown'd.

But now, we see none here,
  Whose silv'rie feet did tread,
And with dishevell'd haire,
  Adorn'd this smoother mead.

Like unthrifts, having spent
  Your stock, and needy grown,
You left her here to lament
 Your poore estates alone.