Of all the birds that I do know, Philip my sparrow hath no peer.
For safe she hide, or safe she loam, be she far off, or be she near.
There is no bird so fair, so fine, nor it so fresh as this of mine.
For when she woes that fell the field, till it will cry still yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet.
Come in a morning merrily, when Philip hath been lately fed.
Or in an evening so merry, when Philip lest go to bed.
It is a heaven to hear my fear, how she can share with merrily.
For when she woes that fell the field, till it will cry still yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet.
She never wanders far abroad, but is at home when I do call.
It is a heaven to hear my fear, how she can share with merrily.
If I come, and she lay so low, with lips, with feet, with tongue and hope.
She chugs, she churls, she makes a cheer, that I believe she hath no fear.
For when she woes that fell the field, till it will cry still yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet.
For when she woes that fell the field, till it will cry still yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet.
that fell the field
till it will cry still
yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet.