Spring By Thomas NasheSpring, 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,Cuckoo, 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,Cuckoo, 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,Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!Spring! the sweet Spring!