Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, 
And Phoebus 'gins arise, 
His steeds to water at those springs 
On chaliced flowers that lies; 
And winking Mary-buds begin 
To ope their golden eyes: 
With every thing that pretty is, 
My lady sweet, arise: 
Arise, arise.
Song: Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings