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.