William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. The Book of Restoration Verse. 1910.
The Merry BeggarsRichard Brome (d. 1652?)
C
By every bird that can but sing,
Or chirp a note, doth now invite
Us forth to taste of his delight,
In field, in grove, on hill, in dale;
But above all the nightingale,
Who in her sweetness strives t’ outdo
The loudness of the hoarse cuckoo.
‘Cuckoo,’ cries he; ‘jug, jug, jug,’ sings she;
From bush to bush, from tree to tree:
Why in one place then tarry we?
We have no debt or rent to pay;
No bargains or accounts to make,
Nor land or lease to let or take:
Or if we had, should that remore us
When all the world’s our own before us,
And where we pass and make resort,
It is our kingdom and our court.
‘Cuckoo,’ cries he; ‘jug, jug, jug,’ sings she;
From bush to bush, from tree to tree:
Why in one place then tarry we?