All. He's no bard, &c.
5. Pan doth play
Care away.
Fairies small,
Two foot tall,
With caps red
On their head,
Dance around
On the ground.
All. He's no bard, &c.
6. Phillis bright,
Cloth'd in white,
With neck fair,
Yellow hair,
Rocks doth move
With her love,
And make mild
Tigers wild.
All. He's no bard that cannot sing
The praises of the flow'ry spring.
2d Song.
Thus spend we time in laughter,
While peace and spring do smile;
But I hear a sound of slaughter
Draw nearer to our isle.
Leave then your wonted prattle,
The oaten reed forbear;
For I hear a sound of battle,
And trumpets tear the air.
Let bagpipes die for want of wind,
Let crowd[276] and harp be dumb:
Let little tabor come behind:
For I hear the dreadful drum.