When daffodils begin to peer -
   With heigh! The doxy over the dale -
Why, then comes 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-lirra 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.

Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way,
    And merrily hent the stile-a:
A merry heart goes all the day,
   Your sad tires in a mile-a.