We shall have a happy year.
If St. Paul be thick with rain,
Then dear will be the price of grain.

After St. Bartholomew
Come long evenings and cold dew.

February fill dyke,
Be it black or be it white,
But if it is white,
It is better to like.

March winds and April showers,
Bring forth May flowers.

He who views his wheat on a weeping May,
Will himself so weeping away;
But he who views it on a weeping June,
Will go away in another tune.

When the sand doth feed the clay,
England woe and well-a-day:
But when the clay doth feed the sand,
Then it is well with Angle Land.

A swarm of bees in May
Is worth a load of hay,
A swarm of bees in June
Is worth a silver spoon.
A swarm of bees in July