I have seen the Lady of the May Set in an arbour, on a holiday, Built by the May-pole, where the jocund swains Dance with the maidens to the bagpipe's strains, When envious night commands them to be gone Call for the merry youngsters one by one, And for their well performance soon disposes: To this a garland interwove with roses, To that a carved hook or well-wrought scrip, Gracing another with her cherry lip; To one her garter, to another then A handkerchief cast o'er and o'er again; And none returneth empty that hath spent His pains to fill their rural merriment. From _Britannia's Pastorals_. Birds in May As (woo'd by May's delights) I have been borne To take the kind air of a wistful morn Near Tavy's voiceful stream (to whom I owe More strains than from my pipe can ever flow), Here have I heard a sweet bird never lin To chide the river for his clam'rous din; There seem'd another in his song to tell, That what the fair stream did he liked well; And going further heard another too, All varying still in what the others do; A little thence, a fourth with little pain Conn'd all their lessons, and them sung again; So numberless the songsters are that sing In the sweet groves of the too-careless spring, That I no sooner could the hearing lose Of one of them, but straight another rose, And perching deftly on a quaking spray, Nigh tir'd herself to make her hearer stay. . . . . . Shrill as a thrush upon a morn of May. From _Britannia's Pastorals_. Music on the Thames As I have seen when on the breast of Thames A heavenly bevy of sweet English dames, In some calm ev'ning of delightful May, With music give a farewell to the day, Or as they would, with an admired tone, Greet Night's ascension to her ebon throne, Rapt with their melody a thousand more Run to be wafted from the bounding shore. From _Britannia's Pastorals_. A Concert of Birds The mounting lark (day's herald) got on wing, Bidding each bird choose out his bough and sing. The lofty treble sung the little wren; Robin the mean, that best of all loves men; The nightingale the tenor, and the thrush The counter-tenor sweetly in a bush. And that the music might be full in parts, Birds from the groves flew with right willing hearts; But (as it seem'd) they thought (as do the swains, Which tune their pipes on sack'd Hibernia's plains) There should some droning part be, therefore will'd Some bird to fly into a neighb'ring field, In embassy unto the King of Bees, To aid his partners on the flowers and trees Who, condescending, gladly flew along To bear the bass to his well-tuned song. The crow was willing they should be beholding For his deep voice, but being hoarse with scolding, He thus lends aid; upon an oak doth climb, And nodding with his head, so keepeth time. From _Britannia's Pastorals_. Flowers