Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.
Richard Barnefield. 15741627203. Philomel
AS it fell upon a day | |
In the merry month of May, | |
Sitting in a pleasant shade | |
Which a grove of myrtles made, | |
Beasts did leap and birds did sing, | 5 |
Trees did grow and plants did spring; | |
Everything did banish moan | |
Save the Nightingale alone: | |
She, poor bird, as all forlorn | |
Lean’d her breast up-till a thorn, | 10 |
And there sung the dolefull’st ditty, | |
That to hear it was great pity. | |
Fie, fie, fie! now would she cry; | |
Tereu, Tereu! by and by; | |
That to hear her so complain | 15 |
Scarce I could from tears refrain; | |
For her griefs so lively shown | |
Made me think upon mine own. | |
Ah! thought I, thou mourn’st in vain, | |
None takes pity on thy pain: | 20 |
Senseless trees they cannot hear thee, | |
Ruthless beasts they will not cheer thee: | |
King Pandion he is dead, | |
All thy friends are lapp’d in lead; | |
All thy fellow birds do sing | 25 |
Careless of thy sorrowing: | |
Even so, poor bird, like thee, | |
None alive will pity me. |