IN the merry month of May,

In a morn by break of day,

With a troop of damsels playing

Forth I rode, forsooth, a-maying,

When anon by a woodside,

Where as May was in his pride,

I espied, all alone,

Phillida and Corydon.

Much ado there was, God wot!

He would love, and she would not:

She said, never man was true:

He says, none was false to you.

He said, he had loved her long:

Corydon would kiss her then,

She says, maids must kiss no men,

Till they do for good and all.

Then she made the shepherd call

All the heavens to witness, truth

Never loved a truer youth.

Thus, with many a pretty oath,

Yea, and nay, and faith and troth!—

Such as silly shepherds use

When they will not love abuse;

Love, which had been long deluded,

Was with kisses sweet concluded:

And Phillida, with garlands gay,

Was made the lady of the May.