Once the blackbird called unto the solemn crow,
"O why do you for ever in mourning go?"
Quoth the crow, "I lost my own true love, alack!
And thereafter for ever I go all in black."
Then the blackbird sighed from out the sally bush,
"Once I too fell courting a fair young thrush.
Oh, but she deceived me and grieved me, Oh, but she turned false, false, O!
And ever since in mourning I too go!"

Last the little wren he piped, "If we were men,
Faith, 'tis we could find us sweethearts, eight, nine and ten.
Then if one grew cold or turned unfaithful, O!
It is off to another one we each could go."
"Perhaps," replied the crow, "that plan of yours might work
If we were living in the land of the Turk,
But in Christian climes a woman's just as free to give you pain!
And so, my friends, in feathers we'll remain."