The Shepherds Swains shal dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me, and be my Love_.

_Via_. Trust me Master, it is a choice Song, and sweetly sung by honest
_Maudlin_: Ile bestow Sir _Thomas Overbury's_ Milk maids wish upon her,
_That she may dye in the Spring, and have good store of flowers stuck
round about her winding sheet_.

The Milk maids mothers answer.

_If all the world and love were young,
And truth in every Shepherds tongue?
These pretty pleasures might me move,
To live with thee, and be thy love.

But time drives flocks from field to fold:
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold,
And_ Philomel _becometh dumb,
The Rest complains of cares to come.

The Flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward Winter reckoning yeilds
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancies spring, but sorrows fall.

Thy gowns, thy shooes, thy beds of Roses,
Thy Cap, thy Kirtle, and thy Posies,
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,