Ye Sprynge: Old Cynic's Carol

by WILLIAM ROBERTS
YE Sprynge it is so madenynge,
It cumeth wyth no warnen;
I finde it verye sadenynge
When sudenlye one mornen
Ye Sun is bryte,
Ye Herte is lyte,
And grene is hedge adornynge.
Meselfe is never fulle preparde
For Sprynge’s entycements hedye;
Me wyntere Soule to Apryl bared
Is stolyd stille, and stedye;
Me senses wear
Wule underware —
Me Spiryf is unredye!