Sister, awake! close not your eyes, The day her light discloses; And the bright morning doth arise Out of her bed of roses. See the clear sun, the world's bright eye, In at our window peeping; Lo, how he blusheth to espy Us idle wenches sleeping! Therefore awake, make haste I say, And let us without staying All in our gowns of green so gay Into the park a maying.
— THOMAS BATESON