Hebdomade

Sweet Suffolk Owl, so trimly dight
With feathers like a lady bright,
Thou singest alone, sitting by night,
  Te whit, te whoo! Te whit, te whoo!

The note, that forth so freely rolls,
With shrill command the mouse controls;
And sings a dirge for dying souls,
  Te whit, te whoo! Te whit, te whoo!

Fain would I change that note
To which fond Love hath charm'd me
Long, long to sing by rote,
Fancying that that harm'd me:

Yet when this thought doth come
'Love is the perfect sum 
Of all delight!'
I have no other choice
Either for pen or voice
To sing or write.

O Love! they wrong thee much
That say thy [fruit]1 is bitter,
When thy [rich]2 fruit is such
As nothing can be sweeter.

Fair house of joy and bliss,
Where truest pleasure is,
I do adore thee:
I know thee what thou art,
I serve thee with my heart,
And fall before thee.

Weep you no more, sad fountains;
  What need [you]1 flow so fast?
Look how the snowy mountains
  Heaven's sun doth gently waste!
    But my sun's heavenly eyes
      View not your weeping,
      That now lies sleeping,
    [Softly now, softly]2 lies
        Sleeping.

Sleep is a reconciling,
  A rest that peace begets;
Doth not the sun rise smiling
  When fair at [e'en]3 he sets?
    Rest you, then, rest, sad eyes!
      Melt not in weeping,
      While she lies sleeping,
    [Softly now, softly]2 lies
        Sleeping.

A Sparrow-Hawk proud did hold in wicked jail
Music's sweet chorister, the nightingale,
To whom with sighs she said: "O set me free!
And in my song I'll praise no bird but thee."
The hawk replied, "I will not lose my diet
To let a thousand such enjoy their quiet."

Mother, I will have a husband,
And I will have him out of hand.
Mother, I will sure have one,
In spite of her that will have none.

John-a-Dun should have had me long ere this,
He said I had good lips to kiss.
Mother, I will sure have one,
In spite of her that will have none.

For I have heard 'tis trim when folks do love,
By good Sir John I swear I'll prove.
My other I will sure have one,
In spite of her that will have none.

To the town therefore will I gad,
To get me a husband good or bad.
Mother I will have a husband,
And I will have him out of hand.

Mother, I will sure have one,
In spite of her that will have none.

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It was a lover and his lass,
  With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino
That o'er the green [corn-field]1 did pass.
  In [the]2 spring time, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding a ding;
Sweet lovers love the spring.

Between the acres of the rye,
  [With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,]3
These pretty country [folks]4 would lie,
  [In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,]5
[When birds do sing, hey ding a ding a ding;
Sweet lovers love the spring.]3

This carol they began that hour,
  [With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,]3
How that a life was but a flower
  [In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,]5
[When birds do sing, hey ding a ding a ding;
Sweet lovers love the spring.]3

[And therefore take the present time]6
  [With]7 a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
For love is crownéd with the prime
  In [the]2 spring time, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding a ding;
Sweet lovers love the spring.