Knew’st thou one month would take… Thou’dst weep; but laugh, should i…

Fled are the frosts, and now the f… Reclothed in fresh and verdant dia… Thaw’d are the snows; and now the… Gives to each mead a neat enamelli… The palms put forth their gems, an…

Get up, get up for shame, the Blo… Upon her wings presents the god un… See how Aurora throwes her faire Fresh—quilted colours through the… Get up, sweet—Slug—a—bed, and see

Cupid as he lay among Roses, by a Bee was stung. Whereupon in anger flying To his Mother, said thus crying; Help! O help! your Boy’s a dying.

In this little urn is laid Prudence Baldwin, once my maid, From whose happy spark here let Spring the purple violet.

To the Right Honourable Mildmay,… Come, sons of summer, by whose toi… We are the lords of wine and oil; By whose tough labours, and rough… We rip up first, then reap our lan…

Whither, mad maiden, wilt thou roa… Far safer ’twere to stay at home; Where thou mayst sit, and piping,… The poor and private cottages. Since cotes and hamlets best agree

I sing of brooks, of blossoms, bir… Of April, May, of June, and July… I sing of May—poles, hock—carts,… Of bridegrooms, brides, and of the… I write of youth, of love, and hav…

To my revenge, and to her desperat… Fly, thou made bubble of my sighs… In the wild air, when thou hast ro… And, like a blasting planet, found… Stoop, mount, pass by to take her…

First offer incense; then, thy fie… Shall smile and smell the better b… The spangling dew dredged o’er the… Turn’d all to mell and manna there… Butter of amber, cream, and wine,…

Chorus. What sweeter music can we bring, Than a Carol, for to sing The Birth of this our heavenly Ki… Awake the Voice! Awake the Strin…

Good morrow to the day so fair; Good morning, sir, to you; Good morrow to mine own torn hair, Bedabbled with the dew. Good morning to this primrose too;

Ask me why I send you here This sweet Infanta of the year? Ask me why I send to you This Primrose, thus bepearl’d wit… I will whisper to your ears,—

From this bleeding hand of mine, Take this sprig of Eglantine: Which, though sweet unto your smel… Yet the fretful briar will tell, He who plucks the sweets, shall pr…