SPRING, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king; br Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring, br Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing-- br    Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo! br br The palm and may make country houses gay, br Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day, br And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay-- br    Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo! br br The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet, br Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit, br In every street these tunes our ears do greet-- br    Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo! br    Spring, the sweet Spring!br br Thomas Nashebr br