Country Glee

HAYMAKERS, rakers, reapers, and mowers, Wait on your Summer-queen; Dress up with musk-rose her eglantine bowers, Daffodils strew the green; Sing, dance, and play, 'Tis holiday; The sun does bravely shine On our ears of corn. Rich as a pearl Comes every girl, This is mine, this is mine, this is mine; Let us die, ere away they be borne. Bow to the Sun, to our queen, and that fair one Come to behold our sports: Each bonny lass here is counted a rare one, As those in a prince's courts. These and we With country glee, Will teach the woods to resound, And the hills with echoes hollow: Skipping lambs Their bleating dams, 'Mongst kids shall trip it round; For joy thus our wenches we follow. Wind, jolly huntsmen, your neat bugles shrilly, Hounds make a lusty cry; Spring up, you falconers, the partridges freely, Then let your brave hawks fly. Horses amain, Over ridge, over plain, The dogs have the stag in chase: 'Tis a sport to content a king. So ho ho! through the skies How the proud bird flies, And sousing kills with a grace! Now the deer falls; hark, how they ring!