Catches, canons and drinking songs
Now that the Spring hath filled our veins
with kind and active fire,
and made green liv’ries for the plains,
and ev’ry grove a choir,
sing we this song with mirth and merry glee,
and Bacchus crown the bowl,
and here’s to thee, and thou to me,
and ev’ry thirsty soul,
shear sheep that have them cry we still,
but see that none escape,
to take off the sherry
that makes us so merry,
and plump as the lusty grape.