Soprano solo
Alto solo
Tenor solo
Bass solo
Trumpet I + II + III
Bassdrum
Travers flute I + II
Recorder I + II
Oboe I + II
Violin I + II
Viola
Basso continuo

Bass, Tenor: O flee now and vanish, O yield now, ye sorrows,
Disturb ye gay merriment's impulses not!
Laughter and pleasure
Are swelling our hearts now,
And gladness painteth ev'ry face.
Soprano, Alto: O flee now and vanish, O yield now, ye sorrows,
Disturb ye gay merriment's impulses not!



Bass (Damoetas): What do I hear?
Tenor (Menalcas): Who interrupts us here?
Bass (Damoetas): What? Doris and Miss Sylvia?
Alto (Sylvia): So think ye then
Your heart alone is filled
With triumph and with rapture?
Soprano (Doris): That we two only
Untouched by gladness now should be?

Thousands are the artful praises
Welling now within my breast;
And the joy
Which my fond affection showeth
Can my tongue no way keep silent.

Bass (Damoetas): What is it, fairest shepherdess,
What plan have ye, where would ye go?
Soprano (Doris): Midst beeches,
Oak trees or the lindens,
The flower-goddess to discover,
That we a crown
For our belove'd Christian
May fashion.
The splendor, passing rare,
Of his high celebration,
Which to my soul is dear and precious,
Will soon begin.
Tenor (Menalcas): Ye'll make with us the same excursion.
Alto (Sylvia): But who will to the sheep be tending?

Lull yourselves, ye sated sheep now,
To your slumber
In our absence by yourselves!
There within that deep-set valley,
Where e'en now fresh grass doth grow,
We will come again to find you.

Bass (Damoetas): Let's go!
Belove'd shepherdesses,
Ye shall with us to court now go
And midst our joyful undertaking
Beside us stand:
But yet,
Where will the roses and narcissus,
The jasmine, lilies and melissa
Be found to make our wreaths?
Alto (Sylvia): It is true, I can nought discover
For brows a fitting decoration;
But still I hope that through my efforts
The flowers e'en before their time
May from their frigid grave be summoned.

Come now, Flora, come here quickly,
Breathing with the western breezes,
These our meadows fill will grace,
That a humble servant true
To his gentle Christian
Debt and duty might repay.

Why labor so
Our Flora to cause trouble?
For why would this our mighty Prince
Especially require the flowers?
A wish by faith and love inspired,
Which doth with ever constant hope
Through air and clouds arise,
Will to his ears afford great pleasure.
So rise! Let this your song of praise
With intermingled kettledrum
Resound now and ring clearly!

Luck and health
Bide thy constant portion now!
Mighty ruler, thy contentment
Must just like the palms stand firm;
They are never bending lowly,
Rather to the clouds ascend!
For thus in the future midst constant good fortune
Thy people with laughter and mirth shall have pleasure.