When the cock at daybreak crows,
And his wings are busy sweeping,
And the day wakes up from sleeping,
Ere the house lord ploughs or sows,
Lucy starts her flower picking,
Which will make her eye so gay:
Blooms as sweet as honey licking,
Where the honey bee will play.
Lucy dear, you bloom so fair
That the best of field-goddesses
You will conquer with your tresses,
Which so fairly crown your hair:
To the throne worth to be lifted
Leave what’s pleasing so the eye;
If you have by lusts been drifted
To the flowers, you with me should fly.
Don’t just walk through foliage wild,
Join me to the lovers’ garden,
Fairest Nymph, for in that Arden
Flowering grows, more nobly styled,
Which not only pleases senses,
But to feelings fed by love
Thousands of rewards dispenses,
Through the wooing sense thereof.
Courts of love defy it all;
Let fierce hail or storms be raging,
Heaven wars of lightning waging,
With a heavy thunder fall;
Let rough winters make us shiver,
Smelling green go all awry,
Flowers of love will live forever,
Let just die what has to die.
Vertaling: C.W. Schoneveld