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Spring, the sweet spring


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:

123456Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!


The palm and may make country houses gay,

Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day,

And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay:

123456Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!


The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet,

Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit,

In every street these tunes our ears do greet:

123456Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to witta-woo!

12345678910Spring, the sweet spring!



Thomas Nashe (1567–1601)

Picture 10506056, illustration by Margaret Tarrant, circa 1920s, image copyright Mary Evans / Medici