Who love me, for I patronise their sports,
Mean I to make my final testament: 
But first I’ll call my officers to ’count,
And of the wealth I gave them to dispose,
Know what is left I may know what to give
Vertumnus, then, that turn’st the year about,
Summon them one by one to answer me. 
First, Ver, the Spring, unto whose custody
I have committed more than to the rest;
The choice of all my fragrant meads and flowers,
And what delights soe’er nature affords.

VER.  I will, my lord.  Ver, lusty Ver, by the name of lusty Ver, come into the court! lose a mark in issues.

    Enter VER, with his train, overlaid with suits of
    green moss, representing short grass, singing.

The Song.

Spring, the sweet spring, is the year’s pleasant king,
Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in ring,
Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing,
Cuckow, jug, jug, pu—­we, to-wit, to-whoo.

The palm and may make country houses gay,
Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day,
And hear we aye birds tune this merry lay,
Cuckow, jug, jug, pu—­we, to-wit, to-whoo.

The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet,
Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit;
In every street these tunes our ears do greet,
Cuckow, jug, jug, pu—­we, to-wit, to-whoo. 
    Spring, the sweet spring_.

WILL SUM.  By my troth, they have voices as clear as crystal:  this is a pratty thing, if it be for nothing but to go a-begging with.

SUM.  Believe me, Ver, but thou art pleasant bent;
This humour should import a harmless mind. 
Know’st thou the reason why I sent for thee?

VER.  No, faith, nor care not whether I do or no. 
If you will dance a galliard, so it is:  if not—­

Falangtado, Falangtado, To wear the black and yellow, Falantado, Falantado, My mates are gone, I’ll follow.[26]

SUM.  Nay, stay awhile, we must confer and talk. 
Ver, call to mind I am thy sovereign lord,
And what thou hast, of me thou hast and hold’st. 
Unto no other end I sent for thee,
But to demand a reckoning at thy hands,
How well or ill thou hast employ’d my wealth.

VER.  If that be all, we will not disagree: 
A clean trencher and a napkin you shall have presently.

WILL SUM.  The truth is, this fellow hath been a tapster in his days.

    VER goes in, and fetcheth out the hobby-horse[27] and
    the morris-dance, who dance about.

SUM.  How now? is this the reckoning we shall have?

WIN.  My lord, he doth abuse you; brook it not.

AUT. Summa totalis, I fear, will prove him but a fool.

VER.  About, about! lively, put your horse to it, rein him harder; jerk him with your wand:  sit fast, sit fast, man! fool, hold up your ladle there.