Venator. Trust me, master, it is a choice song, and sweetly sung by
honest Maudlin. I now see it was not without cause that our good queen
Elizabeth did so often wish herself a milk-maid all the month of May,
because they are not troubled with fears and cares, but sing sweetly all
the day, and sleep securely all the night: and without doubt, honest,
innocent, pretty Maudlin does so. I'll bestow Sir Thomas Overbury's
milk-maid's wish upon her, "that she may die in the Spring; and, being
dead, may have good store of flowers stuck round about her winding-
sheet " .

The Milk-maid's mother's answer

If all the world and love were young
And truth in every shepherd's tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee, and be thy love.

But Time drives flocks from field to fold.
When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold
Then Philomel becometh dumb
And age complains of cares to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning yields.
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy's spring but sorrow's fall.

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten;
In folly rise. in reason rotten.

Thy belt of straw, and ivy buds,
Thy coral clasps, and amber studs,
All these in me no means can move
To come to thee, and be thy love.

What should we talk of dainties, then,
Of better meat than's fit for men ?
These are but vain: that's only good
Which God hath blessed and sent for food.

But could youth last, and love still breed;
Had joys no date, nor age no need;
Then those delights my mind might move
To live with thee, and be thy love.