All maner of byrdes in your kynd;
Se none be left behynde.
To mornynge loke that ye fall 390
With dolorous songes funerall,
Some to synge, and some to say,
Some to wepe, and some to pray,
Euery byrde in his laye.
The goldfynche, the wagtayle;
The ianglynge iay to rayle,
The fleckyd pye to chatter