Thomas Dekker - Haymakers, Rakers, Reapers, And Mowers lyrics

Haymakers, rakers, reapers, and mowers, Wait upon your summer queen. Dress up with musk-rose her eglantine bowers, Daffodils strew the green. Sing, dance, and play, 'Tis holiday. The sun does bravely shine On our ears of corn. Rich as a pearl, Comes every girl, This is mine, this is mine, this is mine; Let us die, ere away they be borne. Bow to the sun, to our queen, and that fair one, Come to behold our sports. Each bonny la** here is counted a rare one, As those in princes' courts. These and we With country glee, Will teach the woods to resound And the hills with echoes hollow; Skipping lambs Their bleating dams 'Mongst kids shall trip it round; For joy thus our wenches we follow. Wind, jolly huntsman, your neat bugles shrilly, Hounds make a lusty cry; Spring up, you falconers, the partridges freely, Then let your brave hawks fly. Horses amain Over ridge, over plain, The dogs have the stag in chase; 'Tis a sport to content a king: So ho! ho! through the skies How the proud bird flies, And sousing, k**s with a grace. Now the deer falls; hark! how they ring.