No better reasons than these ...
WHAN that Aprille with his shoures soote
The droghte of Marche hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licour,
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne,
And smale fowles maken melodye,
That slepen al the night with open ye,
(So priketh hem nature in hir corages:
Than longen folk to goon on pilgrimages . . . (Geoffrey Chaucer)
It puts a little Spring in your step.
Well-singes the cuckoo-ooo
Ne swik te naver noo.
It beats staying home to do the spring-cleaning.
Some of them are running from lovers
Leaving no forward address
Some are running tons of ganja
Some are running from the IRS.
(Steve Goodman, the dead guy who wrote the song we discussed the other e’en.)
What’s “swich licour”?
(No wonder Chaucer’s obsolete. Who can figure out what he’s talking about?)
síþ