As I abroad in fields and woods did walk,
I heard the birds of several things to talk,
And on the boughs would gossip, prate, and chat,
And every one discourse of this and that.
“I,” said the Lark, “before the sun do rise, 5
And take my flight up to the highest skies,
There sing some notes, to raise Apollo’s head,
For fear that he might lie too long abed.
And as I mount, or as I come down low,
Still do I sing which way soe’er I go. 10
Winding my body up just like a screw,
So doth my voice wind up a trillo too.
What bird, besides myself, both flies and sings?
My trillos keep tune to my flutt’ring wings.”
“I,” said the Nightingale, “all night do watch, 15
For fear a serpent should my young ones catch.
To keep back sleep, I several tunes do sing,
Which are so pleasant that they lovers bring
Into the woods, who list’ning sit, and mark;
When I begin to sing, they cry, ‘hark, hark!’ 20
Stretching my throat to raise my trillos high,
To gain their praises, makes me almost die.”
Then comes the Owl, which says, “Here’s such ado
With your sweet voices,” through spite cries, “Wit-a-woo!”
“In winter,” said the Robin, “I should die, 25
But that I in a good warm house do fly,
And there do pick up crumbs, which make me fat,
But oft I’m scared away with the puss-cat.
If they molest me not, then I grow bold,
And stay so long whilst winter tales are told. 30
Man superstitiously dares not hurt me,
For if I’m killed or hurt ill luck shall be.”
The Sparrow said, “Would our case were no worse,
But men do with their nets us take by force.
With guns and bows they shoot us from the trees, 35
And by small shot, we oft our lives do leese
Because we pick a cherry here and there,
When God knows we do eat them in great fear.
But men will eat until their bellies burst,
And surfeits take; if we eat, we are cursed. 40
Yet we by Nature are revengèd still:
For eating overmuch themselves they kill.
And if a child do chance to cry and bawl,
They do us catch to please that child withal.
With threads they tie our legs almost to crack, 45
And when we hop away, they pull us back,
And when they cry, “fip, fip!” straight we must come,
And for our pains they’ll give us one small crumb.”
“I wonder,” said Magpie, “you grumble so,
Dame Sparrow; we are used much worse I trow. 50
For they our tongues do slit, their words to learn,
And with this pain, our food we dearly earn.”
“Why,” say the Finches and the Linnets all,
“Do you so prate, Magpie, and so much bawl?
As if no birds besides were wronged but you, 55
When we by cruel Man are injured too?
For we to learn their tunes are kept awake,
That with their whistling we no rest can take.
In darkness we are kept, no light must see,
Till we have learned their tunes most perfectly. 60
But Jackdaws, they may dwell their houses nigh,
And build their nests in elms that do grow high,
And there may prate, and fly from place to place,
For why, they think they give their house a grace.”
“Lord!” said the Partridge, Cock, Peewit, Snite, and Quail, 65
Pigeons, Larks, “My masters, why d’ye rail?
You’re kept from winter’s cold and summer’s heat,
Are taught new tunes, and have good store of meat.
You have your servants, yet give them no wages,
Which do make clean your foul and dirty cages, 70
When we poor birds are by the dozens killed.
Luxurious men us eat till they be filled,
And of our flesh they make such cruel waste,
That but some of our limbs will please their taste.
In woodcocks’ thighs they only take delight, 75
And Partridge wings, which swift were in their flight.
The smaller Lark they eat all at one bite,
But every part is good of Quail and Snite.
The murtherous Hawk they keep, us for to catch,
And teach their dogs to crouch, and creep, and watch 80
Until they spring us into nets and toils,
And thus, poor creatures, we are made Man’s spoils.
Cruel Nature, to make us tame and mild!
They happy are which are more fierce and wild.
O would our flesh had been like carrion coarse, 85
Which to eat only famine might enforce.
But when they eat us, may they surfeits take;
May they be poor when they a feast us make.
The more they eat, the leaner may they grow,
Or else so fat they cannot stir nor go.” 90
“O,” said the Swallow, “let me mourn in black,
For of Man’s cruelty I do not lack.
I am the messenger of summer warm,
Do neither pick their fruit nor eat their corn.
Yet men will take us when alive we be 95
(I shake to tell, O horrid cruelty!),
Beat us alive till we an oil become.
Can there to birds be a worse martyrdom?”
“O Man, O Man! If we should serve you so,
You would against us your great curses throw. 100
But Nature, she is good; do not her blame.
We ought to give her thanks, and not exclaim.
For love is Nature’s chiefest law in mind,
Hate but an accident to love, we find.
’Tis true, self-preservation is the chief, 105
But luxury to Nature is a thief.
Corrupted manners always do breed vice,
Which by persuasion doth the mind entice.
No creature doth usurp so much as Man,
Who thinks himself like God, because he can 110
Rule other creatures, and make them obey;
‘Our souls did never Nature make,’ say they.
Whatever comes from Nature’s stock and treasure
Created is only to serve their pleasure.
Although the life of bodies comes from Nature, 115
Yet still the souls come from the great Creator.
And they shall live, though we to dust do turn,
Either in bliss, or in hot flames to burn.”
Then came the Parrot with her painted wing,
Spake like an orator in every thing. 120
“Sister Jay, neighbor Daw, and gossip Pie,
We taken are not, like the rest, to die,
Only to talk and prate the best we can,
To imitate to th’life the speech of Man.
And just like men we pass our time away, 125
For many, but not one wise word we say,
And speak as gravely nonsense as the best,
As full of empty words as all the rest.
The Nature we will praise, because we have
Tongues given us like men, our lives to save. 130
Mourn not, my friends, but sing in sunshine gay,
And while you’ve time, joy in yourselves you may.
What though your lives be short? Yet merry be,
Do not complain, but in delights agree.”
Straight came the titmouse with a frowning face, 135
And hopped about, as in an angry pace.
“My masters all, what’s matter? Are you mad?
Is no regard unto the public had?
Are private home affairs cast all aside?
Your young ones cry for meat; ’tis time to chide. 140
For shame, disperse yourselves, and some pains take,
Both for the public and your young ones’ sake.
And sit not murmuring against great Man,
Unless some way revenge ourselves we can.
Alas, alas! We want their shape, for they 145
By it have power to make us all obey.
They can lift, bear, strike, pull, thrust, turn, and wind
What ways they will, which makes them new arts find.
’Tis not their wit that doth inventions make,
But ’tis their shapes, which height, breadth, depth can take. 150
Thus they can measure this great worldly ball,
And numbers set to prove the truth of all.
What creature else has arms, or goes upright,
Or has all sorts of motion so unite?
Man by his shape can Nature imitate, 155
Can govern, rule, and can new arts create.
Then come away, since talk no good can do,
And what we cannot help, submit unto.”
Then some their wives, others their husbands call,
To gather sticks to build their nests withal. 160
Some shrews did scold, winds had destroyed their nest;
They had no place where to abide or rest.
For all they’d gathered with great pains and care,
Those sticks and straws were blown they knew not where.
But none did labor like the little Wren, 165
To build for her young ones her nest again,
For she doth lay more eggs than all the rest,
And with much art and skill doth build her nest.
The young made love, and kissed each other’s bill;
The Cock caught flies to give his mistress still. 170
The Yellow Hammer cried, “’tis wet, ’tis wet!
For it will rain before the sun doth set.”
Taking their flight as each mind thought it best,
Some flew abroad, and some home to their nest.
Some gathered corn, which out of sheaves was strewed, 175
And some did pick up seed that new was sowed.
Some courage had a cherry ripe to take;
Others caught flies when they a feast would make.
And some did pick up ants and eggs, though small,
And brought them home to feed their young withal. 180
When every crop was filled, and night drew nigh,
Then did they stretch their wings fast home to fly.
For like as men, when they from markets come,
Set out alone, but every mile adds some,
Until a troop of neighbors get together, 185
So do a flight of birds in sunshine weather.
When to their nests they got, Lord how they bawled!
And everyone to his next neighbor called,
Asking each other if they weary were,
Rejoicing at past dangers and great fear. 190
When they their wings had pruned, and young ones fed,
Sat gossiping before they went to bed.
The Blackbird said, “Let us a carol sing
Before we go to bed this fine evening.”
The Thrushes, Linnets, Finches all took parts, 195
A harmony by Nature, not by arts.
But all their songs were hymns to God on high,
Praising his name, blessing his majesty.
And when they asked for gifts, to God did pray
He would be pleased to give them a fair day. 200
At last they drowsy grew, and heavy were to sleep,
And then instead of singing, cried, “Peep, peep!”
Just as the eye, when sense is locking up,
Is neither open wide, nor yet quite shut,
So by degrees a voice is falling found, 205
For as a shadow, so doth waste a sound.
Thus went to rest each head under each wing,
For sleep brings peace to every living thing.