I saw another company of Mayers in Sun-street, and, as far as I could judge from where I stood, it appeared to be of exactly the same description as that above-mentioned, but I did not venture very near them, for I perceived mad Moll’s husband exercising his broom so briskly upon the flying crowd, that I kept at a respectful distance.
May-day at Hitchin, in Hertfordshire.
The “Mayer’s Song” is a composition, or rather a medley, of great antiquity, and I was therefore very desirous to procure a copy of it; in accomplishing this, however, I experienced more difficulty than I had anticipated; but at length succeeded in obtaining it from one of the Mayers. The following is a literal transcript of it:
The Mayer’s Song.
Remember us poor Mayers all,
And thus do we begin
To lead our lives in righteousness,
Or else we die in sin.
We have been rambling all this night,
And almost all this day,
And now returned back again
We have brought you a branch of May.
A branch of May we have brought you,
And at your door it stands,
It is but a sprout,
But it’s well budded out
By the work of our Lord’s hands.
The hedges and trees they are so green
As green as any leek,
Our heavenly Father He watered them
With his heavenly dew so sweet.
The heavenly gates are open wide,
Our paths are beaten plain,
And if a man be not too far gone,
He may return again.