A MAY BURDEN.

Through meadow-ways as I did tread,

The corn grew in great lustihead,

And hey! the beeches burgeon-ed.

By Godd-es fay, by Godd-es fay!

It is the month, the jolly month,

It is the jolly month of May.

God ripe the wines and corn, I say

And wenches for the marriage-day,

And boys to teach love's comely play.

By Godd-es fay, by Godd-es fay!

It is the month, the jolly month,

It is the jolly month of May.

As I went down by lane and lea,

The daisies reddened so, pardie!

‘ Blushets!’ I said,‘ I well do see,

By Godd-es fay, by Godd-es fay!

The thing ye think of in this month,

Heigho! this jolly month of May.’

As down I went by rye and oats,

The blossoms smelt of kisses; throats

Of birds turned kisses into notes;

By Godd-es fay, by Godd-es fay!

The kiss it is a growing flower,

I trow, this jolly month of May!

God send a mouth to every kiss,

Seeing the blossom of this bliss

By gathering doth grow, certes!

By Godd-es fay, by Godd-es fay!

Thy brow-garland pushed all aslant

Tells — but I tell not, wanton May!