I'm thinking of the night, you know, both sleeping and awake,
And I hear them calling loudly till their voices seem to break;
But I must fashion lots of gowns in Liberty silks so gay,
For I'm to be Promise of May, my Lad, I'm to be Promise of May!
I went down into Surrey—don't laugh, it is no joke—
And found the great Bard dramatist wrapt in a cloak—of smoke!
He handed me his manuscript, and read it yesterday;
So I'm to be Promise of Maytime, I'm to be Promise of May!
He said I was ideal, because I kept it up,
This mixture of his Dora, and his Camma in the Cup.