In a somer seson, whan softe was the sonne,I shoop me into shroudes as I a sheep were,In habite as an heremite unholy of werkes,Wente wide in this world wondres to here.Ac on a May morwenynge on Malverne hillesMe bifel a ferly, of Fairye me thoghte.
somer, whan, softe, shoop, me, shroudes, sheep, habite, heremite
For May wol have no slogardie a-night. The seson priketh every gentil herte, And maketh him out of his slepe to sterte.
May, wol, priketh, gentil, herte, maketh, him, slepe, sterte