God save the lives of them and their wives
Whether they be young or old.
Back and side go bare, go bare;
Both foot and hand go cold;
But, belly, God send thee good ale enough,
Whether it be new or old.

_NICHOLAS BRETON_

PHILLIDA AND CORYDON

IN the merry month of May,
In a morn by break of day,
With a troop of damsels playing
Forth I went forsooth a-maying.

When anon by a wood side,
Where, as May was in his pride,
I espied, all alone,
Phillida and Corydon.

Much ado there was, God wot!
He would love, and she would not,
She said, never man was true:
He says none was false to you;

He said he had lov'd her long;
She says love should have no wrong,
Corydon would kiss her then;
She says, maids must kiss no men,

Till they do for good and all,
When she made the shepherd call
All the heavens to witness truth,
Never lov'd a truer youth.

Then with many a pretty oath,
Yea and nay, faith and troth,
Such as silly shepherds use,
When they will not love abuse;

Love, which had been long deluded,
Was with kisses sweet concluded;
And Phillida with garlands gay
Was made the lady of May.

_THOMAS NASH_

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!

_SIR EDWARD DYER_

MY MIND TO ME A KINGDOM IS

My mind to me a kingdom is,
Such perfect joy therein I find,
That it excels all other bliss
That God or nature hath assigned:
Though much I want that most would have,
Yet still my mind forbids to crave.

No princely port, nor wealthy store,
Nor force to win a victory;
No wily wit to salve a sore,
No shape to win a loving eye;
To none of these I yield as thrall,
For why, my mind despise them all.

I see that plenty surfeits oft,
And hasty climbers soonest fall;
I see that such as are aloft,
Mishap doth threaten most of all;
These get with toil, and keep with fear:
Such cares my mind can never bear.

I press to bear no haughty sway;
I wish no m