Where the bee sucks, there suck I:
In a cowslip's bell I lie;
There I couch when owls do cry.
On the bat's back I do fly
After summer merrily.
Merrily, merrily, shall I live now,
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
II
Come unto these yellow sands,
And then take hands:
Court'sied when you have, and kiss'd
The wild waves whist,—
Foot it featly here and there;
And, sweet sprites, the burden bear.
Hark, hark!
Bow-wow.
The watch-dogs bark:
Bow-wow.
Hark, hark! I hear
The strain of strutting chanticleer
Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow!
—William Shakespeare.
Songs of Good Cheer
I
When daffodils begin to peer,
With heigh the doxy over the dale,
Why then comes in the sweet o' the year:
For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.
II
Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way,
And merrily hent the stile-a:
A merry heart goes all the day,
Your sad tires in a mile-a.