Why, then [comes] in the sweet o' the year;
For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.
5
The white sheet bleaching on the hedge,
With [heigh]! the sweet birds, O, how they sing!
Doth set my [pugging] tooth [on] edge;
For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.
The lark, [that tirra-lyra] chants,
[With heigh! with heigh!] the thrush and the jay,
Are summer songs for me and my aunts,