Spring
Thomas Nash
Spring, the sweet spring,is the years pleasant king
Then blooms each thing,then maids dance in a ring,
Cold doth not sing, 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 ay 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 ours ears do greet,
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to witta woo!
Thomas Nash
Spring, the sweet spring,is the years pleasant king
Then blooms each thing,then maids dance in a ring,
Cold doth not sing, 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 ay 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 ours ears do greet,
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to witta woo!
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