Movement II. Madrigal con ritornelli

Fair Summer droops, droop men and beasts therefore,

So fair a Summer look for never more.

All good things vanish less than in a day,

Prace, plenty, pleasure suddenly decay.

Go not yet away, bright soul of the sad year;

The earth is hell when thou leav'st to appear.

What, shall those flowers that decked thy garland erst,

Upon thy grave by wastefully dispersed?

O trees, consume your sap in sorrow's source;

Streams, turn to tears your tributary course.

Go not yet hence, bright soul of the sad year;

The earth is hell when thou leav'st to appear.