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“WHEN DAFFODILS BEGIN TO PEER"
WHEN daffodils begin to peer,
With heigh! the doxy over the dale, Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year;
For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.
The white sheet bleaching on the hedge,
With heigh! the sweet birds, O, how they sing! Doth set my pugging tooth on edge;
For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.
The lark, that tirra-lyra chants,
With heigh! with heigh! the thrush and the jay, Are summer songs for me and my aunts,
While we lie tumbling in the hay.
But shall I go mourn for that, my dear?
The pale moon shines by night: And when I wander here and there,
I then do most go right.
If tinkers may have leave to live,
And bear the sow-skin budget, Then my account I well may give, And in the stocks avouch it.
"ORPHEUS WITH HIS LUTE"
ORPHEUS with his lute made trees,
Bow themselves when he did sing:
There had made a lasting spring.
Every thing that heard him play,
Hung their heads, and then lay by.
William Shakespeare "HARK, HARKI THE LARK"
HARK, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And Phæbus 'gins arise,
On chaliced flowers that lies;
To ope their golden eyes:
"NOW WINTER NIGHTS ENLARGE"
NOW winter nights enlarge
The number of their hours;
Upon the airy towers.
And cups o'erflow with wine,
With harmony divine.
Shall wait on honey love
This time doth well dispense
With lovers' long discourse; Much speech hath some defence,
Though beauty no remorse. All do not all things well;
Some measures comely tread, Some knotted riddles tell;
Some poems smoothly read.
And winter his delights;
Thomas Campion HAYMAKERS, RAKERS, REAPERS AND MOWERS
HAYMAKERS, rakers, reapers and mowers,
Wait on your Summer-Queen! Dress up with musk-rose her eglantine bowers, Daffodils strew the green!
Sing, dance and play,
Rich as a pearl
Comes every girl.
Bow to our Sun, to our Queen, and that fair one
Come to behold our sports; Each bonny lass here is counted a rare one, As those in princes' courts.
These and we
With country glee,
Their bleating dams 'Mongst kids shall trip it round; For joy thus our wenches we follow.
Wind, jolly huntsmen, your neat bugles shrilly,
Hounds make a lusty cry;