by John Lyly
Hat Bird so sings, yet so dos wayle ?|
O t'is the rauish'd Nightingale.
Iug, Iug, Iug, Iug, tereu, shee cryes,
And still her woes at Midnight rise.
Braue prick song ! who is't now we heare ?
None but the Larke so shrill and cleare ;
How at heauens gats she claps her wings,
The Morne no waking till shee sings.
Heark, heark, with what a pretty throat
Poore Robin red-breast tunes his note ;
Hear how the iolly Cuckoes sing
Cuckoe, to welcome in the spring,
Cuckoe, to welcome in the spring.
Bond, R. Warwick, M.A. The Complete Works of John Lyly, Vol II.
Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1902, 1967 repr., p. 351.
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Created by Anniina Jokinen on October 24, 1996. Last updated on February 8, 2007.