XXVIII

THE PEDLAR'S SONG

WHEN daffodils begin to peer,

With heigh! the doxy over the dale,

Why then comes in 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-lyra 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.

D

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.

If tinkers may have leave to live
And bear the sow-skin budget,
Then my account I well may give
And in the stocks avouch it.

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.

XXIX

PEDLAR'S CRIES

LAWN as white as driven snow ;

Cypress black as e'er was crow;
Gloves as sweet as damask roses;
Masks for faces and for noses;

Bugle bracelet, necklace amber,
Perfume for a lady's chamber;

Golden quoifs and stomachers,

For my lads to give their dears :

Pins and poking-sticks of steel,

What maids lack from head to heel:

Come buy of me, come; come buy, come buy ;

Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry:

Come buy.

Any silk, any thread,

Any toys for your head,

Of the new'st and finest, finest wear-a?

Come to the pedlar ;

Money's a medler

That doth utter all men's ware-a.

XXX

BACCHANALIAN SONG

COME, thou Monarch of the vine,

Plumpy Bacchus with pink eyne!

In thy fats our cares be drown'd,

With thy grapes our hairs be crown'd: Cup us, till the world go round,

Cup us, till the world go round!

XXXI

A COUNTRY FELLOW'S SONG

O

Do nothing but eat, and make good cheer, And praise God for the merry year;

When flesh is cheap and females dear,

And lusty lads roam here and there
So merrily,

And ever among so merrily.

Be merry, be merry, my wife has all;
For women are shrews, both short and tall:

'Tis merry in hall when beards wag all,

And welcome merry Shrove-tide :-—-
Be merry, be merry!

A cup of wine that's brisk and fine,
And drink unto the leman mine;

And a merry heart lives long-a.

Fill the cup, and let it come;

I'll pledge you a mile to the bottom.