I. br I laugh and sing, but cannot tell br Whether the folly on't sounds well; br But then I groan, br Methinks, in tune; br Whilst grief, despair and fear dance to the air br Of my despised prayer. br br II. br A pretty antick love does this, br Then strikes a galliard with a kiss; br As in the end br The chords they rend; br So you but with a touch from your fair hand br Turn all to saraband.