Her father to the father went
Of the deceased, with full intent
To tell him what his daughter said;
So both came back unto this maid.
They asked her, and she still did say
'Twas he that then brought her away;
Which when they heard, they were amazed,
And on each other strangely gazed.
A handkerchief she said she tied
About his head, and that they tried;
The sexton they did speak unto
That he the grave would then undo.
Affrighted then they did behold
His body turning into mould,
And though he had a month been dead
This handkerchief was about his head.
This thing unto her then they told,
And the whole truth they did unfold;
She was thereat so terrified
And grieved, that she quickly died.
Old Ballad
LXXXIII
THE NIGHTINGALE
As it fell upon a day
In the merry month of May,
Sitting in a pleasant shade
Which a grove of myrtles made,
Beasts did leap and birds did sing,
Trees did grow and plants did spring,
Everything did banish moan,
Save the Nightingale alone.
She, poor bird, as all forlorn,
Lean'd her breast against a thorn,
And there sung the dolefullest ditty
That to hear it was great pity.
Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry;
Tereu, Tereu, by and by:
That to hear her so complain
Scarce I could from tears refrain;
For her griefs so lively shewn
Made me think upon mine own.
—Ah, thought I, thou mourn'st in vain,
None takes pity on thy pain:
Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee,
Ruthless beasts, they will not cheer thee;
King Pandion, he is dead,
All thy friends are lapp'd in lead.
All thy fellow birds do sing
Careless of thy sorrowing.
Even so, poor bird, like thee
None alive will pity me.
R. Barnefield