Classic Poem

The sonne, with his bemes of brightnesse,
To man so kyndly is and norisshynge
þat, lakkyng it, day nere but dirknesse
To day he yeueth his enlumynynge,
And causith al fruyt for to wexe and sprynge.
Now, syn þat sonne may so moche auaille,
And moost with somer is his soiournynge,
That sesoun bonteuous we wole assaille.

Glad cheerid somer, to your gouernaille
And grace we submitte al our willynge.
To whom yee freendly been, he may nat faille
But he shal haue his resonable axynge
Aftir your good lust, be the sesonynge
Of our fruytes this laste Mighelmesse,
The tyme of yeer was of our seed ynnynge,
The lak of which is our greet heuynesse.

We truste vpon your freendly gentillesse,
Ye wole vs helpe and been our suppoaille
Now yeue vs cause ageyn this Cristemesse
For to be glad. O Lord, whethir our taille
Shal soone make vs with our shippes saille
To port salut? If yow list we may synge,
And elles moot vs bothe mourne and waille,
Til your fauour vs sende releeuynge.

We, your seruantes, Hoccleue and Baillay,
Hethe and Offorde, yow beseeche and preye,
" Haastith our heruest as soone as yee may"
For fere of stormes our wit is aweye.
Wer our seed inned, wel we mighten pleye,
And vs desporte and synge and make game,
And yit this rowndel shul we synge and seye
In trust of yow and honour of your name.

Somer, þat rypest mannes sustenance
With holsum hete of the sonnes warmnesse,
Al kynde of man thee holden is to blesse.

Ay thankid be thy freendly gouernance,
And thy fressh look of mirthe and of gladnesse.
Somer etc.

To heuy folk of thee the remembrance
Is salue and oynement to hir seeknesse
Forwhy, we thus shul synge in Cristemesse,