A30125:229
A book for boys and girls, or, Country rhymes for childrenA book for boys and girls, or, Country rhimes for children
A book for boys and girls, or, Country rhymes for children by J.B.A book for boys and girls, or, Country rhimes for children by J.B.
London: printed for N.P., 1686
Title page typeset from the transcription.
A BOOK FOR Boys and Girls, &c. › Poem 23: XXIII. Upon the Lark and the Fowler
Modern spelling is a reading aid: the words are the author’s, only the spelling is modernized. Original shows the page as printed, with the transcription marks.
XXIII. Upon the Lark and the Fowler
Thou simple Bird what makest thou here to play? Look, there's the Fowler. prithee come away. Dost not behold the Net? Look there 'tis spread, Venture a little further thou art dead. Is there not room enough in all the Field For thee to play in, but thou needs must yield To the deceitful glittering of a Glass, Placed betwixt Nets to bring thy death to pass? Bird, if thou art so much for dazzling light, Look, there's the Sun above thee, dart upright? Thy nature is to soar up to the Sky, Why wilt thou come down to the nets, and dye? Take no heed to the Fowler's tempting Call; This whistle he enchanteth Birds withal. Or if thou seest a live Bird in his net, Believe she's there 'cause thence she cannot get. ⟨p. 31⟩Look how he tempteth thee with his Decoy, That he may rob thee of thy Life, thy Joy: Come, prithee Bird, I prithee come away, Why should this net thee take, when 'scape thou may? Hadst thou not Wings, or were thy feathers pulled, Or wast thou blind or fast asleep wert lulled: The case would somewhat alter, but for thee, Thy eyes are ope, and thou hast Wings to flee. Remember that thy Song is in thy Rise, Not in thy Fall, Earth's not thy Paradise. Keep up aloft then, let thy circuits be Above, where Birds from Fowlers nets are free.
Thou simple Bird what mak'st thou here to play? Look, there's the Fowler. prethee come away. Dost not behold the Net? Look there 'tis spread, Venture a little further thou art dead. Is there not room enough in all the Field For thee to play in, but thou needs must yield To the deceitful glitt'ring of a Glass, Plac'd betwixt Nets to bring thy death to pass? Bird, if thou art so much for dazling light, Look, there's the Sun above thee, dart upright? Thy nature is to soar up to the Sky, Why wilt thou come down to the nets, and dye? Take no heed to the Fowler's tempting Call; This whistle he enchanteth Birds withal. Or if thou seest a live Bird in his net, Believe she's there 'cause thence she cannot get.