THE FLOWER AND THE LITTLE MISS.
About getting up.
Pretty Flower, tell me why
All your leaves do open wide,
Every morning, when on high
The noble sun begins to ride?
This is why, my lady fair,
If you would the reason know,
For betimes the pleasant air
Very cheerfully doth blow.
And the birds on every tree
Sing a merry, merry tune;
And the busy honey bee
Comes to suck my sugar soon.
This is all the reason why
I my little leaves undo.
Little Miss, come wake and try,
If I have not told you true.