To meadow

Ye have been fresh and green,

Ye have been fill'd with flowers;

And ye the walks have been

Where maids have spent their houres.

You have beheld how they

With wicker arks did come,

To kisse and beare away

The richer couslips home.

Y'ave heard them sweetly sing.

And seen them in a round;

Each virgin, like a spring,

With hony-succles crown'd.

But now, we see none here,

Whose silv'rie feet did tread,

And with dishevell'd haire,

Adorn'd this smoother mead.

Like unthrifts, having spent

Your stock, and needy grown,

Y'are left here to lament

Your poore estates alone.