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All things that we ordained festival, turn from their office to black funeral. Our instruments to melancholy bells, our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast. Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change, our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse, and all things change them to the contrary.
Honest good fellows, ah, put up, put up, for you well know, this is a pitiful case.
Faith, may we put up our pipes and be gone.
Musicians, O musicians, “Heart’s Ease,” “Heart’s Ease.” O, an you will have me live, play “Heart’s Ease.”
Why “Heart’s ease?”
O musicians, because my heart itself plays “My Heart is Full.” O, play me some merry dump to comfort me.
Not a dump, we. 'Tis no time to play now.
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