THE SONG OF THE NIGHTINGALE.
Sing, sing, nightingale, it is early you are singing.
Not earlier than you, young man. Hunting are you going?
Good luck to you, little comrade. I am not going a-hunt
ing.
I am on my way to Kerlosquet, where my love is dwelling.
The nightingale then asked him, being a curious gossip,
There are many houses at Kerlosquet, to which one are you