YE little birds, that sit and sing
Amidst the shady valleys,

And see how PHILLIS sweetly walks
Within her garden alleys,

Go, pretty birds, about her bower!
Sing, pretty birds, she may not lower!
Ah! me! methinks, I see her frown!
Ye pretty wantons, warble!

Go, tell her, through your chirping bills,
As you by me are bidden,
To her is only known my love;
Which from the World is hidden.
Go, pretty birds, and tell her so!
See that your notes strain not too low!
For still, methinks, I see her frown!
Ye pretty wantons, warble!

Go, tune your voices' harmony;
And sing, I am her Lover!
Strain loud and sweet, that every note
With sweet content may move her!
And she that hath the sweetest voice.
Tell her, I will not change my choice!
Yet still, methinks, I see her frown!

To de Sacier, Lates you! The Glade,

The Seaman doth not scom!

The Usurer de Dai; and
The Townsman to the Hora

The Huntsman to the White Hart,
To the Ship, the Merchant goes:

But you that do the Muses kve,

The Bankrupt to the World's End,
The Fool to the Fortune hie;
Unto the Mouth, the Oyster Wife;
The Fidler to the Pie.

Pack, clouds, away; and welcome, day!
With night, we banish sorrow!

Sweet air, blow soft! Mount, Lark, aloft;
To give my Love 'Good morrow!'
Wings from the wind, to please her mind;
Notes from the Lark, I'll borrow!
Bird, prune thy wing! Nightingale, sing!
To give my Love 'Good morrow!'

To give my Love 'Good morrow!
Notes from them all, I'll borrow!

Wake from thy nest, Robin Redbreast!
Sing, birds, in every furrow!

And from each bill, let music shrill

Give my fair Love 'Good morrow!' Blackbird and Thrush, in every bush,

Stare, Linnet, and Cock Sparrow;
You pretty Elves, among yourselves,
Sing my fair Love Good morrow!

To give my Love Good morrow!'
Sing, birds, in every furrow!

AN ELEGY OF A WOMAN'S HEART.

O, FAITHLESS World! and thy more faithless part,
A Woman's Heart!

The true Shop of Variety! where sits
Nothing but fits

And fevers of Desire, and pangs of Love;
Which toys remove!

Why was She born to please! or I, to trust
Words writ in dust!

Suffring her eyes to govern my despair;
My pain, for air!

And fruit of time rewarded with untruth,
The food of Youth!

Untrue She was: yet I believed her eyes,
(Instructed spies!)

Till I was taught, that Love was but a School
To breed a Fool!

Or sought She more, by triumphs of denial,
To make a trial,

How far her smiles commanded my weakness!
Yield, and confess!

Excuse no more thy folly! But, for cure,
Blush, and endure

As well thy shame, as Passions that were vain!
And think, 'tis gain

To know, That Love, lodged in a Woman's Heart,
Is but a guest!