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The finch, the sparrow and the lark,


 * The plain-song cuckoo gray,

Whose note full many a man doth mark,


 * And dares not answer nay;

for, indeed, who would set his wit to so foolish a bird? who would give a bird the lie, though he cry ‘cuckoo’ never so?

I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again:

Mine ear is much enamour’d of thy note;

So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape;

And thy fair virtue’s force perforce doth move me

On the first view to say, to swear, I love thee.

Methinks, mistress, you should have little reason for that: and yet, to say the truth, reason and love keep little company together now-a-days; the more the pity that some honest neighbours will not make them friends. Nay, I can gleek upon occasion.

Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful.

Not so, neither: but if I had wit enough to get out of this wood, I have enough to serve mine own turn.