Sweet Philomel in groves and deserts haunting
Oft glads my heart and ears with her sweet chanting.
But then her tunes delight me best
When perched with thorn against her breast,
She sings fie, fie, fie, as if she suffered wrong;
Till, seeming pleased, sweet, sweet, sweet, concludes her song.

Sweet Jinny sings and talks and sweetly smileth,
And with her wanton mirth my griefs beguileth.
But then methinks she pleaseth best
When my hands move love's request, move love's request,
She sings fie, fie fie, and seeming loth gainsays,
Till, better pleased, sweet, sweet, sweet, content betrays.