Whilst we sing the doleful knell
Of this princess' passing-bell,
Let the woods and valleys ring
Echoes to our sorrowing;
And the tenor of their song
Be ding dong, ding dong, dong,
              Ding dong, dong,
                    Ding dong. 


Nature now shall boast no more
Of the riches of her store,
Since in this her chiefest prize,
All the stock of beauty dies;
Then, what cruel heart can long
For-bear to sing this sad ding dong? 
               This sad ding dong,
                        Ding dong. 


Fauns and sylvans of the woods,
Nymphs that haunt the crystal floods,
Savage beasts more milder then
The unrelenting hearts of men,
Be partakers of our moan,
And with us sing ding dong, ding dong,
                 Ding dong, dong,
                       Ding dong.