By whose tough labor and rough hands
We rip up first, then reap our lands,
Crown'd with the ears of corn, now come,
And to the pipe sing harvest-home.
Come forth, my lord, and see the cart,
Drest up with all the country art.
See here a mawkin, there a sheet
As spotless pure as it is sweet:
The horses, mares, and frisking fillies
Clad all in linen, white as lilies;