My flocks breed not,
My ewes feed not,
My rams amiss not.
All is speed:
Love’s speed,
Faith’s speed,
Heart’s speed,
Causer of speed.
A cup of wine that’s brisk and fine:
An old hare hoar, and an old hare hoar:
And let the canakin clink, clink:
And will he not come again?
Art thou god to sheperd turn’d?
Be merry, be merry, my wife has all!
Blow, blow, thou winter wind:
But shall I go mourn for that, my dear?
Come away, come away, death
Come, thou monarch of the vine
Come away, come away, death
Come, thou monarch of the vine
Come away, come away, death
Come, thou monarch of the vine
Come unto these yellow sands!