Each day of thine (words by Sir John Davies)
Only joy, now here you are (words by Sir Philip Sidney)
Of sweet and dainty fowers
Slow, slow, fresh fount (words by Ben Jonson)
In pleasant summer's morning
Once I thought to die for love
Pity me, mine own sweet jewel
But behold where they return
In the merry month of May
Come, merry lads, let us away
Whiles joyful springtime lasteth
Early before the day doth spring (words by Sir John Davies)
Where are now those jolly swains ?
Now the country lasses hie them.