Lovely Maya, Hermes' mother,
Of fair Flora much befriended,
To whom this sweet month is commended,
This month more sweet than any other,
By thy sweet sovereignty defended.

Daisies, cowslips, and primroses,
Fragrant violets, and sweet mynthe,
Matched with purple hyacinth:
Of these, each where, nymphs make trim posies,
Praising their mother Berycinth.

Behold, a herd of jolly swains
Go flocking up and down the mead.
A troop of lovely nymphs do tread,
And dearnly dancing on yon plains,
Each doth, in course, her hornpipe lead.

Before the grooms plays Piers the piper.
They bring in hawthorn and sweet brere;
And damask-roses they would bear,
But them they leave till they be riper.
The rest, round morrises dance there.

With frisking gambols, and such glee,
Unto the lovely nymphs they haste,
Who there in decent order placed
Expect who shall Queen Flora be
And with the May Crown chiefly graced.

The shepherds poopen in their pipe,
One leads his wench a country round;
Another sits upon the ground,
And doth his beard from drivel wipe
Because he would be handsome found.

To see the frisking and the scouping!
To hear the herdgrooms' wooing speeches!
Whiles one to dance his girl beseeches.
The lead-heeled lazy luskins louping,
Fling out in their new motley breeches.

This done, with jolly cheer and game
The batch'lor swains and young nymphs met,
Where in an arbour they were set.
Thither, to choose a Queen, they came,
And soon concluded her to fet.

There with a garland they did crown
Parthenophe, my sweet true-love;
Whose beauty all the nymphs above
Did put the lovely Graces down.
The swains with shouts rocks' echoes move.

To see the rounds and morris dances,
The leaden galliards, for her sake!
To hear those songs the shepherds make!
One with his hobby-horse still prances,
Whiles some with flowers an highway make.

There in a mantle of light green,
Reserved by custom for that day,
Parthenophe they did array,
And did create her Summer's Queen
And Ruler of their merry May.