John Lyly (1554-1606)
What Bird so sings, yet so dos wayle?
O t'is the rauish'd Nightingale.
Iug, Iug, Iug, Iug, tereu, shee cryes,
And still her woes at Midnight rise.
Braue prick song! who is't now we heare ?
None but the Larke so shrill and cleare;
How at heauens gats she claps her wings,
The Morne no waking till shee sings.
Heark, heark, with what a pretty throat
Poore Robin red-breast tunes his note;
Hear how the iolly Cuckoes sing
Cuckoe, to welcome in the spring,
Cuckoe, to welcome in the spring.
Exploring The Waste Land
File date: Sunday, September 29, 2002