That blessed bird, that spends her time of sleep
In songs and plaintive pleas, the more t' augment
The memory of his misdeed that bred her woe.
"And you that feel no woe, when as the sound
Of these my nightly cries ye hear apart,
Let break your sounder sleep, and pity augment."
PER. O Colin, Colin! the shepheards' joy,
How I admire each turning of thy verse;
And Cuddie, fresh Cuddie, the liefest boy,
How dolefully his dole thou didst rehearse!