So, march away; and let due praise be given

Time passeth swift away; Our life is frail, and we may die to-day.

Our swords shall play the orators for us.

What strange arts necessity finds out.

You sons of care, companions of my course!

Come live with me and be my Love, And we will all the pleasures prove That hills and valleys, dales and fields, Or woods or steepy mountain yields.And we will sit upon the rocks, And see the shepherds feed their flocks By shallow rivers, …

Accurst be he that first invented war.