Now one and all, you Roses, 
Wake up, you lie too long! 
This very morning closes 
The Nightingale his song; 

Each from its olive chamber 
His babies every one 
This very morning clamber 
Into the shining sun. 

You Slug-a-beds and Simples, 
Why will you so delay! 
Dears, doff your olive wimples, 
And listen while you may.