Fayre Mistress, lett's rejoyce and sing

Fayre Mistress, lett's rejoyce and sing,
Time flyes away, and though the Spring
May recompence the winters cold,
Making the yeare seeme young, 'lookt old;
Yet if our youth beginne to waine
It never will growe greene againe,
And to an unleav'd branch may well returne
Fire to consume itself, not others burne.