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.

Come in a morning merrily,
  When Philip hath been lately fed,
Or in an evening soberly,
  When Philip list to go to bed :
It is a heaven to heare my Philipe,
How she can chirp with merry lip.
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 yet besides all this good sport,
  My Philip can both sing and dance,
With new-found toys of sundry sort
  My Philip can both prick and prance:
And if you say but "fend cut, Phippe,"
Lord! how the peat will turn and skip.
For when she once hath felt a fit,
Philip will cry still yet yet yet.

Her feathers are so fresh of hue, 
  And so well pruned every day:
She lacks no oil, I warrant you,
  To trim her tail both trick and gay.
And though her mouth be somewhat wide, 
Her tongue is sweet and short beside. 

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