Reynolds.
DOLORÈS.
“My bird was a green finch,” she said, “and he had the crossest little eye I’ve ever seen; it was like a sour bead, full of greediness. But all the same I loved him, and I shall never have such another. I shall never, never, have such a dear again. This man Skelton who wrote this poem must have known some little girl who lost a bird she loved, for listen to what he writes about it. It is called
The Boke of Phyllyp Sparowe,
and these are only some of the lines:—
“‘When I remember again
How my Phylyp was slain
Never half the payne
Was between you twain,
Pyramus and Thisbe,