Country Glee

Haymakers, rakers, reapers, and mowers,

Wait upon your summer queen.

Dress up with musk-rose her eglantine bowers,

Daffodils strew the green.

Sing, dance, and play,

'Tis holiday.

The sun does bravely shine

On our ears of corn.

Rich as a pearl,

Comes every girl,

This is mine, this is mine, this is mine;

Let us die, ere away they be borne.

Bow to the sun, to our queen, and that fair one,

Come to behold our sports.

Each bonny lass here is counted a rare one,

As those in princes' courts.

These and we

With country glee,

Will teach the woods to resound

And the hills with echoes hollow;

Skipping lambs

Their bleating dams

'Mongst kids shall trip it round;

For joy thus our wenches we follow.

Wind, jolly huntsman, your neat bugles shrilly,

Hounds make a lusty cry;

Spring up, you falconers, the partridges freely,

Then let your brave hawks fly.

Horses amain

Over ridge, over plain,

The dogs have the stag in chase;

'Tis a sport to content a king:

So ho! ho! through the skies

How the proud bird flies,

And sousing, kills with a grace.

Now the deer falls; hark! how they ring.