That the Season of Enjoyment is short, and should not pass by neglected

ME list no more to sing

Of love, nor of such thing,

How sore that it me wring;

For what I sung or spake,

Men did my songs mistake.

My songs were too diffuse;

They made folk to muse;

Therefore me to excuse,

They shall be sung more plain,

Neither of joy nor pain.

What vaileth then to skip

At fruit over the lip

……..

For fruit withouten taste

Doth nought but rot and waste.

What vaileth under kay

To keep treasure alway,

That never shall see day.

If it be not used,

It is but abused.

What vaileth the flower

To stand still and wither;

If no man it savour

It serves only for sight,

And fadeth towards night.

Therefore fear not to assay

To gather, ye that may,

The flower that this day

Is fresher than the next.

Mark well I say this text:

Let not the fruit be lost

That is desired most;

Delight shall quite the cost.

If it be ta’en in time

Small labour is to climb.

And as for such treasure

That maketh thee the richer,

And no deal the poorer

When it is given or lent,

Methinks it were well spent.

If this be under mist,

And not well plainly wist,

Understand me who list,

For I reek not a bean;

I wot what I do mean.