E           B
  When Daffadils begin to peere, 
         A            E
  With heigh the Doxy ouer the dale, 
       B                  A
  Why then comes in the sweet o'the yeere, 
           B7                    E
  For the red blood raigns in y winters pale. 
  
  The white sheete bleaching on the hedge, 
  With hey the sweet birds, O how they sing: 
  Doth set my pugging tooth an edge, 
  For a quart of Ale is a dish for a King. 
  
  The Larke, that tirra Lyra chaunts, 
  With heigh, the Thrush and the Iay: 
  Are Summer songs for me and my Aunts 
  While we lye tumbling in the hay. 
  
   

"My Trafficke is sheetes: when the Kite builds, looke to lesser Linnen. My Father nam'd me Autolicus, who be-ing (as I am) lytter'd vnder Mercurie, was likewise a snapper-vp of vnconsidered trifles: With Dye and drab, I purchas'd this Caparison, and my Reuennew is the silly Cheate. Gallowes, and Knocke, are too powerfull on the Highway. Beating and hanging are terrors to mee: For the life to come, I sleepe out the thought of it. A prize, a prize." (1st Folio, Winters Tale)