Tixall Poetry/A Song ("Now that the spring…")

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XIX.

A Song.

Now that the spring hath fild our vaines With kind and active fire,And made greene liveries for the plaines, And every grove a quire;Sing we this song with mirth, and merry glee, And Bacchus shall crowne the boule;Heres to thee, and thee to me, And to every thirsty soule.

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