Now butter with a leaf of sage is good to purge the blood,
Fly Venus and Phlebotomy, for they are neither good.
Now little fish on tender stone begin to cast their bellies,
And sluggish snail, that erst were mew'd, do creep out of their shellies.
The rumbling rivers now do warm, for little boys to paddle,
The sturdy steed now goes to grass, and up they hang his saddle.
The heavy hart, the blowing buck, the rascal and the pricket,
Are now among the yeoman's pease, and leave the fearful thicket.
And be like them, O you, I say, of this same noble town,
And lift aloft your velvet heads, and slipping of your gown,