| How I laugh at their fond wish |
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| Ye sacred fires, and powers above |
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| The Seasons' Song |
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| Enter at one door, Mopso singing |
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| Chorus of five Bards-Laureate, four voices and a harper, attired |
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| By the moon we sport and play |
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| Tell me, Jove, should she disdain |
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| They all dance in a ring, and sing as followeth |
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| Love's far more powerful than a king |
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| The Taill of the Foxe, that begylit the Wolf, in the schadow of the Mone |
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And I mus say
That you did a fine
Job writting your poem