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