(Mid-1500s, early 1600s)
The earth, late choke with showers,
Is now arrayed in green ;
Her bosom springs with flowers,
The air dissolves her teen ;
The heavens laugh at her glory:
Yet bide I sad and sorry.
The woods are decked with leaves,
And trees are clothed gay;
And Flora crowned with sheaves
With oaken boughs doth play,
Where I am clad in black
In token of my wrack.
The birds upon the trees
Do sing with pleasant voices,
And chant in their degrees
Their loves and lucky choices;
When I, whilst they are singing,
With signs mine arms am wringing.
The thrushes seek the shade,
And I my fatal grave;
Their flight to heaven is made,
My walk on earth I have;
They free, I thrall; they jolly,
I sad and pensvile wholly.