Spring, the sweet spring

BY THOMAS NASHESpring, the sweet spring, is the year’s pleasant king, 
Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring, 
Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing: 
      Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo! 

The palm and may make country houses gay, 
Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day, 
And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay: 
      Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo! 

The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet,
Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit,
In every street these tunes our ears do greet:
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to witta-woo!
Spring, the sweet spring!