Good morning to this primrose too; Good morrow to each maid; That will with flowers the tomb bestrew Wherein my Love is laid. Ah! woe is me, woe, woe is me, Alack and well-a-day! For pity, sir, find out that bee, Which bore my Love away. I'll seek him in your bonnet brave; I'll seek him in your eyes; Nay, now I think they've made his grave I' th' bed of strawberries. I'll seek him there; I know, ere this, The cold, cold earth doth shake him; But I will go, or send a kiss By you, sir, to awake him. Pray hurt him not; though he be dead, He knows well who do love him; And who with green turfs rear his head, And who do rudely move him. He's soft and tender, pray take heed, With bands of cowslips bind him, And bring him home;--but 'tis decreed That I shall never find him. A THANKSGIVING TO GOD. Lord, thou hast given me a cell, Wherein to dwell; A little house, whose humble roof Is weather proof; Under the spars of which I lie Both soft and dry; Where thou, my chamber for to ward, Hast set a guard Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep Me, while I sleep. Low is my porch, as is my fate; Both void of state; And yet the threshold of my door Is worn by th' poor, Who thither come, and freely get Good words, or meat. Like as my parlor, so my hall And kitchen's small; A little buttery, and therein A little bin, Which keeps my little loaf of bread Unchipt, unflead; Some brittle sticks of thorn or briar Make me a fire, Close by whose living coal I sit, And glow like it. Lord, I confess too, when I dine, The pulse is thine, And all those other bits that be There placed by thee; The worts, the purslain, and the mess Of water-cress, Which of thy kindness thou hast sent; And my content Makes those, and my belovèd beet, To be more sweet. 'Tis thou that crown'st my glittering hearth With guiltless mirth, And giv'st me wassail bowls to drink, Spiced to the brink. Lord, 'tis thy plenty-dropping hand That soils my land, And giv'st me, for my bushel sown, Twice ten for one; Thou mak'st my teeming hen to lay Her egg each day; Besides, my healthful ewes to bear Me twins each year; The while the conduits of my kine Run cream, for wine: All these, and better, thou dost send Me, to this end,-- That I should render, for my part, A thankful heart; Which, fired with incense, I resign,