And to hem yeve1 I feyth and ful credence,
And in myn herte have hem in reverence
So hertély, that there is game noon
That fro my bokės maketh me to goon,
But hit be seldom on the holyday,

Save, certeynly, whan that the month of May
Is comen, and that I here the foulės 2 singe
And that the flourės ginnen for to springe,-
Farewel my boke, and my devocioun!

Now have I than swich 3 a condicioun,
That, of alle the floures in the mede,
Than love I most these floures whyte and rede,
Swiche as men callen daysies in our toun.
To hem have I so greet affeccioun,

As I seyde erst, whan comen is the May,
That in my bed ther daweth me no day,
That I nam up, and walking in the mede,
To seen this flour agein the sonne sprede,
When hit uprysith erly by the morwe;
That blisful sightè softneth all my sorwè *.

And whan that hit is eve, I rennė blyve,5
As soon as evere the sonnė ginneth weste,
To seen this flour, how it wol go to reste,
For fere of nyght, so hateth she derknesse!
GEOFFREY CHAUCER

20

1 Give

THE SPRING

WHAT bird so sings, yet so does wail?
O, 'tis the ravished nightingale!
"Jug, jug, jug, jug, tereu," she cries,

And still her woes at midnight rise.

Brave prick-song! who is't now we hear?

None but the lark so shrill and clear;

Now at heaven's gates she claps her wings,

The morn not waking till she sings.

Hark, hark, with what a pretty throat

Poor robin-redbreast tunes his note;

2 Birds 3 Such 4 Sorrow 5 Run quickly, hasten away

Hark, how the jolly cuckoos sing
Cuckoo-to welcome in the spring!
Cuckoo-to welcome in the spring!

JOHN LYLY

21 SPRING, THE SWEET SPRING

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!

22

22

THOMAS NASH

1 Float

A MAY DAY

AND now all nature seemed in love;
The lusty sap began to move;

New juice did stir the embracing vines,

And birds had drawn their valentines.

The jealous trout that now did lie,
Rose at a well-dissembled fly:

There stood my friend with patient skill,

Attending of his trembling quill. 1

Already were the eaves possessed

1

With the swift pilgrim's daubèd nest:

The groves already did rejoice

In Philomel's triumphing voice.

The showers were short, the weather mild,
The morning fresh, the evening smiled.

23

24

Joan takes her neat-rubbed pail and now
She trips to milk the sand-red cow;
Where, for some sturdy football swain,

1

Joan strokes a sillabub or twain.

The field and gardens were beset
With tulip, crocus, violet;

And now, though late, the modest rose
Did more than half a blush disclose.
Thus all looked gay, all full of cheer,
To welcome the new-liveried year.

EASTER

SIR HENRY WOTTON

I GOT me flowers to straw thy way,
I got me boughs off many a tree:

But thou wast up by break of day,

And brought'st thy sweets along with thee.

The Sun arising in the East,

Though he give light, and the East perfume,2

If they should offer to contest

With thy arising, they presume.

Can there be any day but this,

Though many sunnes to shine endeavour?
We count three hundred, but we misse:

There is but one, and that one ever.

GEORGE HERBERT

PLEASURE IT IS

PLEASURE it is

To hear, iwis,3

The birdes sing.

The deer in the dale,

The sheep in the vale,

2 Refresh; make sweet 3 Truly, in sooth

1 Whips, mills, or beats

The corn springing;
God's purveyance
For sustenance

It is for man.

Then we always

To Him give praise,

And thank Him than,

And thank Him than.

WILLIAM CORNISH