SPRING
by: Thomas Nashe (1567-1601)
- PRING, 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!
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- 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 daises 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!
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POEMS BY THOMAS NASHE |
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