'Twas in the merry month of May, when bees from flower to flower did hum.
Soldiers through the town marched, gay, and the villagers ran to the sound of the drum.
The cobbler, he's thrown down his awl. With last and apron he has done.
Left wax and thread for powder and ball; he's left them all to follow the drum'.

The above is such a clever verse, I think. beautifully tight poetry, and you can almost feel the tattoo of that drumbeat as well as hear it. A splendid old tune, as well. A great song to sing.

'May' rhymes with 'Gay', which is useful, but more interestingly, why is May almost invariably 'merry'? Spring has sprung, I suppose, as in the first line of the song.