Whilst it is prime

Tweet

FRESH Spring the herald of loves mighty king In whose cote-armour richly are displayd Aii sorts flowers the which on earth do spring In goodly colours gloriously arrayd-- Goe to my love where she is carelesse layd Yet in her winters bowre not well awake Tell her the joyous time will not be staid Unless she doe him by the forelock take Bid her therefore her selfe sonne ready make To wayt on love amongst his lovely crew Where every one that misseth when her make Shall be by him amearst with penance dew Make hase therefore sweet love whilest it is prime For none can call againe the passed time.