Fair daffodils, we weep to see / You haste away so soon: / As yet the early-rising sun / Has not attained his noon.

And once more yet (ere I am laid out dead)Knock at a star with my exalted head

Cherry ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry / Full and fair ones; come and buy; / If so be, you ask me where / They do grow? I answer there, / Where my Julia's lips do smile; / There's the land, or cherry-isle.

And up he got, in haste to ride, / But soon came down again.

Then horn for horn they stretch and strive; Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive.

Do not weep for me.