Now is the month of Maying

Now is the month of Maying
When merry lads are playing,
Each to his bonny lass,
Upon the greeny grass.

The Spring clad all in gladness
Doth laugh at Winter's sadness, 
And to the bagpipes sound 
the nymph's tread out their ground.

Fie then why sit we musing
Youth's sweet delight refusing?
Say dainty nimphs and speak
Shall we play barley break?