Haymakers, rakers, reapers, and mowers, <br />Wait upon 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 princes' 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 huntsman, 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: <br />So ho! ho! through the skies <br />How the proud bird flies, <br />And sousing, kills with a grace. <br />Now the deer falls; hark! how they ring.<br /><br />Thomas Dekker<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/haymakers-rakers-reapers-and-mowers/
