And said “Jove speed, dame Fly, dame Fly”:
“Marry, you be welcome, Sir,” quoth she:
“The master Humble Bee hath sent me to thee
To wit and if you will his true love be.”
But she said “Nay, that may not be,
For I must have the Butterfly,
For and a greater lord there may not be.”
But at the last consent did she.
And there was bid to this wedding
All Flies in the field and Worms creeping.
The Snail she came crawling all over the plain,
With all her jolly trinkets in her train.
Ten Bees there came, all clad in gold,
And all the rest did them behold;
But the Thornbud refused this sight to see,
And to a cow-plat away flies she.
But where now shall this wedding be?—
For and hey-nonny-no in an old ivy-tree.
And where now shall we bake our bread?—
For and hey-nonny-no in an old horse-head.