_This day dame Nature seem'd in love:
The lustie sap began to move;
Fresh juice did stir th'imbracing Vines,
And birds had drawn their_ Valentines.
_The jealous_ Trout, _that low did lye,
Rose at a well dissembled flie;
There stood my friend with patient skill,
Attending of his trembling quil.
Already were the eaves possest
With the swift Pilgrims dawbed nest:
The Groves already did rejoice,
In_ Philomels _triumphing voice:
The showrs were short, the weather mild,
The morning fresh, the evening smil'd_.

Jone _takes her neat rubb'd pail, and now
She trips to milk the sand-red Cow;
Where for some sturdy foot-ball Swain_.
Jone _strokes a_ Sillibub _or twaine.
The fields and gardens were beset
With_ Tulips, Crocus, Violet,
_And now, though late, the modest_ Rose
_Did more then half a blush disclose.
Thus all looks gay and full of chear
To welcome the new liveried year_.

These were the thoughts that then possest the undisturbed mind of Sir
_Henry Wotton_. Will you hear the wish of another Angler, and the
commendation of his happy life [Jo. Da.], which he also sings in Verse.