HARK! HARK! THE LARK 
  Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,       And Phoebus 'gins arise,   His steeds to water at those springs       On chaliced flowers that lies; 
  And winking Mary-buds begin       To ope their golden eyes;   With every thing that pretty bin,       My lady sweet, arise;         Arise, arise.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE