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.’