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RIng ye the
bels, ye yong men of the towne,
And leaue your
wonted labors for this day:
This day is holy; doe ye
write it dovvne,
that ye for euer it remember may.
This day the sunne is in his chiefest hight,
With Barnaby the bright,
>From whence declining
daily by degrees,
He somewhat loseth of his heat and
light,
When once the Crab behind his back he sees.
But for this time it ill ordained was,
To chose
the longest day in all the yeare,
And shortest
night, when longest fitter weare.
Yet neuer day so
long, but late would passe.
Ring ye the bels, to
make it weare away,
And bonefiers make all day,
And daunce about them, and about them sing:
that all
the woods may answer, and your eccho ring.
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