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Come with the spring-time forth, fair maid, and be This year again the meadow's deity. Yet ere ye enter give us leave to set Upon your head this flowery coronet; To make this neat distinction from the rest, You are the prime and princess of the feast; To which with silver feet lead you the way, While sweet-breath nymphs attend on you this day. This is your hour, and best you may command, Since you are lady of this fairy land. Full mirth wait on you, and such mirth as shall Cherish the cheek but make none blush at all. Meadow-verse, to be recited at a rustic feast.

Loth to depart, but yet at last each one Back must now go to's habitation; Not knowing thus much when we once do sever, Whether or no that we shall meet here ever. As for myself, since time a thousand cares And griefs hath filed upon my silver hairs, 'Tis to be doubted whether I next year Or no shall give ye a re-meeting here. If die I must, then my last vow shall be, You'll with a tear or two remember me,