It is observed by Dr. Forster in the “Perennial Calendar,” that the sky is generally serene, and the weather mild and agreeable, about this time. A cloudy day, however, frequently happens, and is sometimes succeeded by a day’s rain; but we have noticed frequently, that an overcast sky, when not too obscure, is the best for viewing flowers, and at this time of year often sets off the splendid Vernal Flora to great advantage. (Song to Summer.) Hail, rural goddess of delight! I woo thy smiles from morn till night; Now no more rude Eurus blows O’er mountains of congealed snows; But thy faire handmaid lovely Maie Treads the fresh lawns, and leads the waie. Now, at Flora’s earlie call, The meadows greene and vallies all Pour forth their variegated flowers, To regale the sportive hours. Hence then let me fly the crowde Of busy men, and seke the woode, With some Dryad of the grove, By shades of elm and oak to rove, Till some sequestered spot we find, There, on violet bank reclined, We fly the day-star’s burning heate, Which cannot reach our green retreate; While Zephyr, with light whispering breeze, Softly dances in the trees; And, upon his muskie wing, Doth a thousand odours bring From the blooming mead below, Where cowslips sweet and daisies blow; And from out her grassie bed The harebell hangs her nodding head; Hard bye, some purling stream beside, Where limpid waters gently glide, Iris shows her painted woof Of variegated hues, windproof; And with water lillies there, The nymphs and naids braid the haire; And from out their leafie haunt, The birdes most melodious chant. Then, sweet nymph, at eventide, Let us roam the broke beside, While the lovelorn nightingale Sadlie sings the woods ymel, Till the bittern’s booming note O’er the sounding mashes flote, And the ominous owls do crie, While luckless bats are flitting bye; Then before the midnight houre, When ghostlie sprites and pizgies coure, We will betake us to our cot, And be it there, O sleep, our lot, To rest in balmie slumberings, Till the next cock his matin rings.

The Season Monologue from Every Man in His Humour

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