Xiii

I talked one midnight with the jolly ghost Of a gray ancestor, TOM HEYWOOD hight; And, 'Here's,' says he, his old heart liquor-lifted-- 'Here's how we did when GLORIANA shone:'

All in a garden green Thrushes were singing; Red rose and white between, Lilies were springing; It was the merry May; Yet sang my Lady:-- 'Nay, Sweet, now nay, now nay! I am not ready.'

Then to a pleasant shade I did invite her: All things a concert made, For to delight her; Under, the grass was gay; Yet sang my Lady:-- 'Nay, Sweet, now nay, now nay! I am not ready.'