All in a garden green

I talked one midnight with the jolly ghost

Of a gray ancestor, Tom Heywood hight;

And, "Here's," says he, his old heart liquor-lifted --

"Here's how we did when Gloriana shone:"

All in a garden green

Thrushes were singing;

Red rose and white between,

Lilies were springing;

It was the merry May;

Yet sang my Lady: --

"Nay, Sweet, now nay, now nay!

I am not ready."

Then to a pleasant shade

I did invite her:

All things a concert made,

For to delight her;

Under, the grass was gay;

Yet sang my Lady: --

"Nay, Sweet, now nay, now nay!

I am not ready."