The birds' lament

Oh, says the linnet, if I sing,

My love forsook me in the spring

and nevermore will I be seen

without my satin gown of green.

Oh, says the pretty featered jay,

Now my love is gone away

And foro the memory of my dear

A feather of each sort I'll wear.

Oh, says the rook and eke the crow,

The reason why in black we go

Because our love has us forsook,

So pity us poor crow and rook!

Oh, says the pretty speckled thrush

That changes its note from bush to bush,

My love has left me here alone,

I fear she never will return.