One of eight canons for three equal instruments
This one is by Henry Purcell
Prithee ben’t so sad and serious.
Nothing’s got by grief or cares
Melancholy’s too imperious
Where it comes still domineers
But if business, love or sorrow
That possesses thus my mind
Bid him come again to morrow
We are now to mirth inclined
Let the glass run its round
And each good fellow keep his ground
And if there be any filcher found
We’ll have, we’ll have his soul new coined.
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