Spring, 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!
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