YE CRYER:
Here’s a reward for who’ll find Love!
Love is a-straying
Ever since Maying,
Hither and yon, below, above,
All are seeking Love!
YE HAND-BILL:

Gone astray—between the Maying
And the gathering of the hay,
Love, an urchin ever playing—
Folk are warned against his play.

How may you know him? By the quiver,
By the bow he’s wont to bear.
First on your left there comes a shiver,
Then a twinge—the arrow’s there.

By his eye of pansy color,
Deep as wounds he dealeth iree;
If its hue have faded duller,
‘T is not that he weeps for me.

By the smile that curls his mouthlet;
By the mockery of his sigh;
By his breath, a spicy South, let
Slip his lips of roses by.

By the devil in his dimple;
By his lies that sound so true;
By his shaft-sting, that no simple
Ever culled will heal for you.

By his beckonings that embolden;
By his quick withdrawings then;
By his flying hair, a golden
Light to lure the feet of men.

By the breast where ne’er a hurt‘ll
Rankle ‘neath his kerchief hid—
What? you cry; he wore a kirtle?
Faith! methinks the rascal did!
Here’s a reward for who’ll find Love!
Love is a-straying
Ever since Maying;
Hither and yon, below, above,
I am seeking Love.