Spring
Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king(1);
Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring,
Cold doth not sting(2), the pretty birds do sing(3),
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!(4)
The palm(5) and may(6) make country houses gay,
Lambs frisk' and play, the shepherds pipe all day,
And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay,(7)
Cuckoo, jug-jug' pu,we, to-witta-woo !
The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet,
Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit(8),
In every street these tunes bur ears do greet(9),
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
Spring! The sweet Spring!
