Читать книгу Come Hither: A Collection of Rhymes and Poems for the Young of All Ages - Various - Страница 114

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 hear my Phipp,

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[68]

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 the 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,[69] Phipp!

Lord, how the peat[70] will turn and skip!

For when she once hath felt the fit,

Philip will cry still: Yet, yet, yet.

And to tell truth he were to blame—

Having 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 the fit,

Philip will cry still: Yet, yet, yet.

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