Hark, all ye lovely saints above

Hark, all ye lovely saints above

Diana hath agreed with Love,

his fiery weapen to remove.

Do you not sea how they agree?

Then cease, fair ladies;

why weep ye?

See, see, your mistress bids you cease,

and welcome Love, with love's increase;

Diana hath procured your peace.

Cupid hath sworn his bow forlorn

to break and burn,

ere ladies mourn.