IN a harbour grene aslepe whereas I lay, The byrdes sang swete in the middes of the day, I dreamed fast of mirth and play:         In youth is pleasure, in youth is pleasure.

Methought I walked still to and fro, And from her company I could not go— But when I waked it was not so:         In youth is pleasure, in youth is pleasure.

Therefore my hart is surely pyght Of her alone to have a sight Which is my joy and hartes delight:         In youth is pleasure, in youth is pleasure.