A pleasant Countrey Maying Song.
To the tune of the Popes Machina.
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I N this merry Maying time,
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Now comes in the Summer prime.
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Countrey Damsels fresh and gay,
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Walke abroade to gather May:
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In an evening make a match,
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In a morning bowes to fatch.
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Well is she that first of all,
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Can her lover soonest call,
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Meeting him without the towne,
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Where he gives his Love a gowne.
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Tib was in a gowne of gray,
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Tom he had her at a bay.
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Hand in hand they take their way,
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Catching many a rundelay,
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Greeting her with a smile,
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Kissing her at every stile.
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Then he leaves her to the Spring,
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Where the Primrose reigneth king.
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Upon a bed of Violets blew,
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Downe he throwes his Lover true.
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She puts finger in the eye,
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And checkes him for his qualitie.
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She bids him to her mothers house,
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To Cakes & Creame & Country souce.
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He must tell her all his mind,
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But she will sigh and stay behind.
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Such a countrey play as this,
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The maids of our town cannot mis.
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They will in a morning gay,
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Decke themselves and gather May.
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Then they will goe crop the flowers,
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Mongst the leaves and Country bowers.
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When our maidens meet together,
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There is praying for faire weather.
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Glad are they to see the Sunne,
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That they may play when work is don.
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Some at Dancings make a show,
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If they can get leave to goe.
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Young men will for maidens sakes,
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Give them Sugar, Creame & Cakes
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With a cup of dainty Wine,
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And it must be neate and fine.
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Some of them for their good cheare,
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Playes three quarters of a yeare.
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Thou at the first I liked well,
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Cakes and Creame do make [me] swell.
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This pretty maiden waxeth [big]
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See what 'tis to play the [Rig]
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Up she deckes her with and cleene,
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To trace the medowes fresh and gree[ne]
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Or to the good towne she will [wend]
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Where she points to meet her [friend].
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Her gowne was tuckt above the knee,
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Her milkwhite smock that you may [s]ee.
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Thus her amorus Love and she,
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Sports from eight a clocke till [t]hree.
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All the while the Cuckow sings,
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Towards the evening home she slings,
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And brings with her an Oaken bow,
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With a Country Cake or two.
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Straight she tels a solemne tale,
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How she heard the Nightingale,
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And how ech medow greenly springs:
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But yet not how the Cuckow sings.
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In the merry Maying time,
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Love is in her chiefest prime.
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What for Gentlemen and Clownes,
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Our country maids can want no gownes.
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Sillibubs and dainty cheare,
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Yong men lacke not all the yeere.
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All the maidens in the street.
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With the bonny Yonkers meet.
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All the while the grasse is greene,
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And the Dasies grow betweene,
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Dicke and Tom doe walk the fields,
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Still to trip up maidens heeles.
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Thus the Robin and the Thrush,
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Musicke make in every bush.
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While they charme their prety notes,
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Young men hurle up maidens cotes.
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But 'cause I will do them no wrong,
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Here I end my Maying song,
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And wish my friends take heed in time,
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How they spend their Summers prime.
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