Come , shepherds, come, impale your brows
With garlands of the choicest flowers
The time allows.
Come, nymphs, decked in your dangling hair
And unto Sylvia's shady bowers
With haste repair;
Where you shall see chaste turtles play,
And nightingales make lasting May,
As if old Time his youthful mind
To one delightful season had confined.

O N shepherds, on! we'll sacrifice
Those spotless lambs we prize
At highest rate, for Pan doth keep
From harm our scattering sheep:
And hath deserved
For to be served
With those ye do esteem the best
Amongst the flock, as fittest for his feast.

Come, virgins, bring your garlands here,
And hang them everywhere:
Then let his altars be o'erspread
With roses fresh and red.
Burn gums and spice,
Rich sacrifice,
The gods so bounteous are, ye know
Ye mortals cannot pay them what ye owe.