"Spring!
‘Jug-a-jug’ [etc.]
Spring, 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-a-jug’, ‘puwee’, ‘witta-woo’.
Spring, the sweet Spring!
The palm and may make country houses gay,
Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day,
And we here aye birds tune this merry lay:
‘Cuckoo’, ‘jug-jug’, ‘witta-woo’.
The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet,
Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit,
In ev’ry street these tunes our ears do greet:
‘Cuckoo’, ‘jug-a-jug’, ‘puwee’, ‘witta-woo’.
Spring, the sweet Spring!"