To the Maids to walke abroad.
Come sit we under yonder Tree,
Where merry as the Maids we'l be.
And as on Primroses we sit,
We'l venter (if we can) at wit:
If not, at Draw-gloves we will play;
So spend some minutes of the day:
Or else spin out the thread of sands,
Playing at Questions and Commands:
Or tell what strange Tricks Love can do,
By quickly making one of two,
Thus we will sit and talke; but tell
No cruell truths of Philomell,
Or Phillis, whom hard Fate forc'ton,
To kill her selfe for Demophon.
But Fables we'l relate; how fove.
Put on all shapes to get a Love:
As now a Satyr, then a Swan;
A Bull but then; and now a man.
Next we will act, how young men wooe;
And sigh, and kiss, as Lovers do:
And talke of Brides; & who shall make
That wedding-smock, this Bridal-Cake;
That Dress, this Sprig, that Leaf, this Vine;
That smooth and silken Columbine.
This done, we'l draw lots, who shall buy
And guild the Baies and Rosemary:
What Posies for our Wedding Rings;
What Gloves we'l give, and Ribanings:
And smiling at our selves, decree,
Who then the joyning Priest shall be.