That al the gardeyne of the noysè rong,
Til on a morwe, whan Tytan shone ful clere,
The birdd was trapped and kaute with a pantere.
The churl puts the little bird into a fine cage and orders it to sing, but says the bird:
“Song and prison have noon accordaunce,
Trowest thou I wolle syng in prisoun?
Song procedethe of joy and of plesaunce,
And prison causethe dethe and destruccioun;
Rynging of fetires makethe ne mery sounde,