Three Songs

Of all the birds that I do know
  Philip, my sparrow, hath no peer:
For sit she high or sit she low,
  Be she far off or be she near,
There is no bird so fair, so fine,
Nor yet so fresh as this of mine.
For when she once hath felt a fit,
Philip will cry still yet yet yet.

 ... 

She never wanders far abroad;
  But is at home when I do call,
If I command, she lays on load
  With lips, with teeth, with tongue and all.
She chants, she chirps, she makes such cheer,
That I believe she hath no peer.
For when she once hath felt a fit,
Philip will cry still yet yet yet.

 ... 

And to tell the truth, he were to blame, 
  Having so so fine a bird as she,
To make him all this goodly game. 
  Without suspect or jealousy : 
He were a churl and knew no good, 
Would see her faint for lack of food.
For when she once hath felt a fit,
Philip will cry still yet yet yet.

Flow, my tears, fall from your springs!
Exiled for ever, let me mourn;
Where night's black bird her sad infamy sings,
There let me live forlorn.

 ... 

From the highest spire of contentment
My fortune is thrown;
And fear and grief and pain for my deserts
Are my hopes, since hope is gone.

Hark! you shadows that in darkness dwell,
Learn to contemn light
Happy, happy they that in hell
Feel not the world's despite.

Ho! who comes here along with bagpiping and drumming?
O tis the morris dance I see, a coming.
Come ladies out, come quickly!
And see about how trim they dance and trickly.
Hey! there again! how the bells they shake it!
He ho! now for our town! and take it!
Soft awhile, piper, not away so fast! They melt them.
Be hanged, knave! see'st thou not the dancers sweet them?
Stand out awhile! you come too far, I say, in.
There give the hobby-horse more room to play in!