III
Who would not love to rest?
Who would not love to lie?
Who would not love them?
Of such sweet flowers caressed,
Who would not love to rest?
With such stars in their sky,
Who would not love to lie?
Who would not love them?
MARGERY
I
When spring is here and Margery
Goes walking in the woods with me,
She is so white, she is so shy,
The little leaves clap hands and cry—
“Perdie;
So white is she, so shy is she,
Ah me!
The maiden May hath just passed by!”
II
When summer ’s here and Margery
Goes walking in the fields with me,
She is so pure, she is so fair,
The wildflowers eye her and declare—
“Perdie!
So pure is she, so fair is she,
Just see,
Where our sweet cousin takes the air!”