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But when that bright Phoebus
the sun was going down,
A merry dispose'd piper,
approaching from the town,
Pull’d out his pipe and tabour,
disposing for to play,
Which made them all lay down their rakes,
and leave off making hay.
So joining with the dance,
we jig it on the green;
Though tired with our labour,
no weariness was seen;
All tripping like to furies,
our dance we did pursue,
With leading up, and casting off,
till the morning it’s in view.
Then each lad he takes his lass,
the morning being come.
And lays her down on the hay-cock,
till the rising of the sun:
There sporting all the time,
while the harmless birds do sing,
Each lad doth rise and take his lass,
and away to the hay-making.
X ✣ XX ✣ XX ✣ XX ✣ XX ✣ XX ✣ XX ✣ X
ABSENT JOCKEY.
MY Jockey is fled from the plain,
and left me in sorrow to mourn,
Was ever so cruel a swain?
ah! when will the rover return!
