Spring Symphony

 Shine out, fair Sun, with all your heat,
   Show all your thousand-coloured light!
 Black Winter freezes [to]1 his seat;
   The grey wolf howls, he does so bite;
 Crookt Age on three knees creeps the street;
   The boneless fish close quaking lies
 And eats for cold his aching feet;
   The stars in icicles arise:

 Shine out, and make this winter night
 Our beauty's Spring, our Prince of Light!

The merry cuckoo, messenger of spring,
His trumpet shrill hath thrice already sounded:
That warns all lovers wait upon their king,
Who now is coming forth with garlands crowned.

With noise thereof the quire of birds resounded
Their anthems sweet devised of love's praise,
That all the woods their echoes back rebounded,
As if they knew the meaning of their lays.

But 'mongst them all, which did Love's honour raise,
No word was heard of her that most it ought,
But she his precept proudly disobeys,
And doth this idle message set at nought.

Therefore O love, unless she turn to thee
Ere Cuckoo end, let her a rebel be.

Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king;
Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring,
Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing,
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!

The palm and may make country houses gay,
Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day,
And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay,
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,
In every street these tunes our ears do greet,
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
Spring! The sweet Spring!

 ... 

The driving boy beside his team
of Maymonth's beauty now will dream
And cock his hat and turn his eye
On flower and tree and deepning skye
And oft burst loud in fits of song
And whistle as he reels along
Cracking his whip in starts of joy
A happy dirty driving boy

When as the rye reach'd to the chin,
And chop-cherry, chop-cherry ripe within,
Strawberries swimming in the cream,
And schoolboys playing in the stream;
Then, O, then O then O, my true love said,
Till that time come again 
She could not live a maid!

Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger,
Comes dancing from the East, and leads with her
The flowry May, who from her green lap throws
The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose.
Hail bounteous May that dost inspire
Mirth and youth, and warm desire,
Woods and groves, are of thy dressing,
Hill and dale, doth boast thy blessing.
Thus we salute thee with our early Song,
And welcome thee, and wish thee long.

Welcome, maids-of-honour!
You do bring
In the spring,
And wait upon her.

She has virgins many,
Fresh and fair;
Yet you are
More sweet than any.

You're the maiden posies,
And so grac'd
To be plac'd
'Fore damask roses.

Yet, though thus respected,
By-and-by
Ye do lie,
Poor girls, neglected.

Waters above eternal springs!
The dew that sivers the Dove's wings!
O welcome, welcome to the sad!
Give dry dust drink, drink that makes glad!
Many fair ev'nings many flowers
Sweetened with rich and gentle showers,
Have I enjoyed, and down have run
Many a fine and shining Sun;
But never, never, till this happy hour,
Was blest with such an evening shower!

Out on the lawn I lie in bed, 
Vega conspicuous overhead 
In the windless nights of June; 
Forest of green have done complete 
The day's activity; my feet 
Point to the rising moon.

Lucky, this point in time and space 
Is chosen as my working place; 
Where the sexy air of summer, 
The bathing hours and the bare arms, 
The leisured drives through a land of farms, 
Are good to the newcomer.

Equal with colleagues in a ring 
I sit on each calm evening, 
Enchanted as the flowers 
The opening light draws out of hiding 
From leaves with all its dove-like pleading 
Its logic and its powers.

When will my May come, that I may embrace thee?
When will the hower be of my soules joying?
If thou wilt come and dwell with me at home,
My sheepcote shall be strowed with new greene rushes
Weele haunt the trembling prickets as they rome
About the fields, along the hauthorne bushes;
I have a pie-bald curre to hunt the hare,
So we will live with daintie forrest fare.
And when it pleaseth thee to walke abroad
Abroad into the fields to take fresh ayre,
The meades with Floras treasure should be strowde,
The mantled meaddowes, and the fields so fayre.
And by a silver well with golden sands
Ile sit me downe, and wash thine ivory hands.
But it thou wilt not pittie my complaint,
My teares, nor vowes, nor oathes, made to thy beautie:
What shall I do but languish, die, or faint,
Since thou dost scorne my teares, and my soules duetie:
And teares contemned, vowes and oaths must faile,
And where teares cannot, nothing can prevaile.
When will my May come, that I may embrace thee?

Fair and fair, and twice so fair,
As fair as any may be;
The fairest shepherd on our green,
A love for any lady.

Fair and fair, and twice so fair,
As fair as any may be;
Thy love is fair for thee alone,
And for no other lady.

My love is fair, my love is gay,
As fresh as bin the flowers in May,
And of my love my roundelay,
My merry, merry, merry roundelay.
Concludes with Cupid's curse:
  "They that do change old love for new
  Pray gods they change for worse!"

My love can pipe, my love can sing,
My love can many a pretty thing,
And of his lovely praises ring
My merry, merry, merry roundelays
Amen to Cupid's curse:
   "They that do change old love for new
   Pray gods they change for worse!"

Sound the Flute!
Now [it's]1 mute.
Birds delight
Day and Night.
Nightingale
In the dale,
Lark in Sky, 2
Merrily, 
Merrily Merrily to welcome in the Year.

Little Boy,
Full of Joy;
Little Girl,
Sweet and small.
Cock does crow,
So do you.
Merry voice
Infant noise
Merrily Merrily to welcome in the Year.

Little Lamb
Here I am,
Come and [lick
My white neck]3.
Let me pull
Your soft Wool.
Let me kiss
Your soft face.
Merrily Merrily [we]4 welcome in the Year.

London, to thee I do present the merry month of May; 
Let each true subject be content to hear me what I say: 
 ... 
With gilded staff and cross'd scarf, the May-lord here I stand. 
Rejoice, oh, English hearts, rejoice! rejoice, oh, lovers dear! 
Rejoice, oh, city, town, and country! rejoice, eke every shire! 
For now the fragrant flowers do spring and sprout in seemly sort, 
The little birds do sit and sing, the lambs do make fine sport; 
And now the birchen-tree doth bud, that makes the schoolboy cry 
The morris rings, while hobby-horse doth foot it feateously; 
The lords and ladies now abroad, for their disport and play, 
Do kiss sometimes upon the grass, and sometimes in the hay; 
Now butter with a leaf of sage is good to purge the blood; 
Fly Venus and phlebotomy, for they are neither good; 
Now little fish on tender stone begin to cast their bellies, 
And sluggish snails, that erst were mewed, do creep out of their shellies; 
The rumbling rivers now do warm, for little boys to paddle; 
The sturdy steed now goes to grass, and up they hang his saddle; 
The heavy hart, the bellowing buck, the rascal, and the pricket, 
Are now among the yeoman's peas, and leave the fearful thicket: 
And be like them, oh, you, I say, of this same noble town, 
And lift aloft your velvet heads, and slipping off your gown, 
With bells on legs, and napkins clean unto your shoulders tied, 
With scarfs and garters as you please, and "Hey for our town!" cried. 
March out, and show your willing minds, by twenty and by twenty, 
To Hogsdon or to Newington, where ale and cakes are plenty; 
And let it ne'er be said for shame, that we the youths of London 
Lay thrumming of our caps at home, and left our custom undone. 
Up, then, I say, both young and old, both man and maid a-maying, 
With drums, and guns that bounce aloud, and merry tabor playing! 
Which to prolong, God save our king, and send his country peace 
And root out treason from the land! and so, my friends, I cease.

Sumer is icumen in,
  lhude sing cuccu.
Groweth sed and bloweth med
  and springth the wode nu.
Sing cuccu.

Awe bleteth after lomb,
  lhouth after calve cu.
Bulluc sterteth, bucke verteth,
  murrie sing cuccu.

Cuccu, cuccu,
wel singes thu cuccu,
ne swik thu naver nu.