The male deer puts out the velvet head, and the pagged doe is near her fawning. The sparhawk now is drawn out of the mew, and the fowler makes ready his whistle for the quail. The lark sets the morning watch, and the evening the nightingale. The barges, like bowers, keep the streams of the sweet rivers, and the mackerel with the shad are taken prisoners in the sea. The tall young oak is cut down for the maypole. The scythe and the sickle are the mower's furniture, and fair weather makes the laborer merry. The physician now prescribes the cold whey, and the apothecary gathers the dew for a medicine. Butter and sage make the wholesome breakfast, but fresh cheese and cream are meat for a dainty mouth, and the strawberry and the peasecod want no price in the market. The chicken and the duck are fattened for the market, and many a goslin never lives to be a goose. It is the month wherein nature hath her full of mirth and the senses are filled with delights. I conclude, it is from the heavens a grace and to the earth a gladness. Farewell.

June

It is now June, and the haymakers are mustered to make an army for the field where, not always in order, they march under the bag and the bottle, when betwixt the fork and the rake there is seen great force of arms. Now doth the broad oak comfort the weary laborer while under his shady boughs he sits singing to his bread and cheese. The hay-cock is the poor man's lodging, and the fresh river is his gracious neighbor. Now the falcon and the tassel try their wings at the partridge, and the fat buck fills the great pasty. The trees are all in their rich array, but the seely sheep is turned out of his coat. The roses and sweet herbs put the distiller to his cunning, while the green apples on the tree are ready for

the great-bellied wives. Now begins the hare to gather up her heels, and the fox looks about him for fear of the hound. The hook and the sickle are making ready for harvest. The meadow grounds gape for rain, and the corn in the ear begins to harden. The little lads make pipes of the straw, and they that cannot dance will yet be hopping. The air now groweth somewhat warm, and the cool winds are very comfortable. The sailor now makes merry passage, and the nible footman runs with pleasure. In brief, I thus conclude: I hold it a sweet season, the senses' perfume and the spirit's comfort. Farewell.

July

It is now July and the sun is gotten up to his height, whose heat parcheth the earth and burns up the grass on the mountains. Now begins the cannon of heaven to rattle, and when the fire is put to the charge, it breaketh out among the clouds. The stones of congealed water cut off the ears of the corn, and the black storms affright the faint-hearted. The stag and the buck are now in pride of their time, and the hardness of their heads makes them fit for the horner. Now hath the sparhawk the partridge in the foot, and the ferret doth tickle the cony in the burrow. Now doth the farmer make ready his team, and the carter with his whip hath no small pride in his whistle. Now do the reapers try their backs and their arms, and the lusty youths pitch the sheaves into the cart. The old partridge calls her covey in the morning, and in the evening the shepherd falls to folding of his flock. The sparrows make a charm upon the green bushes till the fowler come and takes them by the dozens. The smelt now begins to be in season, and the lamprey out of the river leaps into a pie. The soldier now hath a hot march, and the lawyer sweats in

his lined gown. The peddlar now makes a long walk, and the aqua-vitae bottle sets his face on a fiery heat. In sum, I thus conclude of it: I hold it a profitable season, the laborer's gain and the rich man's wealth. Farewell.

August

It is now August and the sun is somewhat towards his declination, yet such is his heat as hardeneth the soft clay, dries up the standing ponds, withereth the sappy leaves and scorcheth the skin of the naked. Now begin the gleaners to follow the corn cart, and a little bread to a great deal of drink maketh the traveler's dinner. The melon and the cucumber is now in request, and oil and vinegar give attendance on the sallet herbs. The alehouse is more frequented than the tavern, and a fresh river is more comfortable than a fiery furnace. The bath is now much visited by diseased bodies, and in the fair rivers swimming is a sweet exercise. The bow and the bowl pick many a purse, and the cocks with their heels spurn away many a man's wealth. The pipe and the taber is now lustily set on work, and the lad and the lass will have no lead on their heels. The new wheat makes the gossip's cake, and the bride cup is carried above the heads of the whole parish. The furmenty pot welcomes home the harvest cart, and the garland of flowers crowns the captain of the reapers. Oh, 'tis the merry time, wherein honest neighbors make good cheer and God is glorified in his blessings on the earth. In sum, for that I find, I thus conclude: I hold it the world's welfare and the earth's warming-pan. Farewell.

September

It is now September, and the sun begins to fall much from his height. The meadows are left bare by the

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mouths of hungry cattle, and the hogs are turned into the corn-fields. The winds begin to knock the apples' heads together on the trees, and the fallings are gathered to fill the pies for the household. The sailors fall to work to get afore the wind, and if they spy a storm it puts them to prayer. The soldier now begins to shrug at the weather, and the camp dissolved, the companies are put to garrison. The lawyer now begins his harvest, and the client pays for words by weight. The inns now begin to provide for guests, and the nighteaters in the stable pinch the traveler in his bed. Paper, pen and ink are much in request, and the quartersessions take order with the way-layers. Coals and wood make toward the chimney, and ale and sack are in account with good fellows. The butcher now knocks down the great beeves, and the poulter's feathers make toward the upholster. Walflet oysters are the fishwives' wealth, and pippins fine are the costermonger's rich merchandise. The flail and the fan fall to work in the barn, and the corn market is full of the bakers. The porkets now are driven to the woods, and the homefed pigs make pork for the market. In brief, I thus conclude of it: I hold it the winter's forewarning and the summer's farewell.

October

It is now October, and the lofty winds make bare the trees of their leaves, while the hogs in the woods grow fat with the fallen acorns. The forward deer begin to go to rut, and the barren doe groweth good meat. The basket makers now gather their rods, and the fishers lay their leaps in the deep. The load-horses go apace to the mill, and the meal-market is seldom without people. The hare on the hill makes the greyhounds a fair course, and the fox in the woods calls

the hounds to a full cry. The multitude of people raise the price of wares, and the smooth tongue will sell much. The sailor now bestirreth his stumps, while the merchant liveth in fear of the weather. The great

feasts are now at hand for the city, but the poor must not beg for fear of the stocks. A fire and a pair of cards keep the guests in the ordinary, and tobacco is held very precious for the rheum. The coaches now begin to rattle in the streets, but the cry of the poor is unpleasing to the rich. Muffs and cuffs are now in request, and the shuttlecock with the battledore is a pretty house exercise. Tennis and balloon are sports of some charge, and a quick bandy is the court-keeper's commodity. Dancing and fencing are now in some use, and kind hearts and true lovers lie close to keep off cold. The titmouse now keeps in the hollow tree, and the blackbird sits close in the bottom of a hedge. In brief, for the little pleasure I find in it, I thus conclude of it: I hold it a messenger of ill news and a second service to a cold dinner. Farewell.

November

It is now November, and according to the old proverb, Let the thresher take his flail,

And the ship no more sail,

for the high winds and the rough seas will try the ribs of the ship and the hearts of the sailors. Now come the country people all wet to the market, and the toiling carriers are pitifully moiled. The young hern and the shoulerd1 are now fat for the great feast, and the woodcocks begin to make toward the cockshoot. The warreners now begin to pile the harvest, and the butcher after a good bargain drinks a health to the grazier. 1 The shoveler, a fresh-water duck.