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.