A30125:263
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 31: XXXI. Of the Child with the Bird at the Bush.
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.
XXXI. Of the Child with the Bird at the Bush.
My little Bird, how canst thou sit; And sing amidst so many Thorns! Let me but hold upon thee get; My Love with Honour thee adorns. Thou art at present little worth; Five farthings none will give for thee. But prithee little Bird come forth, Thou of more value art to me. 'Tis true, it is Sun-shine to day, Tomorrow Birds will have a Storm; My pretty one, come thou away, My Bosom then shall keep thee warm. Thou subject art to cold o'nights, When darkness is thy covering, At day's thy dangers great by Kites, How canst thou then sit there and sing? ⟨p. 41⟩Thy food is scarce and scanty too, 'Tis Worms and Trash which thou dost eat; Thy present state I pity do, Come, I'll provide thee better meat. I'll feed thee with white Bread and Milk, And Sugar-plumbs, if them thou crave; I'll cover thee with finest Silk, That from the cold I may thee save. My Father's Palace shall be thine, Yea in it thou shalt sit and sing; My little Bird, if thou wilt be mine, The whole year round shall be thy Spring. I'll teach thee all the Notes at Court; Unthought of Music thou shalt play; And all that thither do resort, Shall praise thee for it every day. I'll keep thee safe from Cat and Cur, No manner of harm shall come to thee; Yea, I will be thy Succourer, My Bosom shall thy Cabin be. But lo, behold, the Bird is gone; These Charmings would not make her yield: The Child's left at the Bush alone, The Bird flies yonder o'er the Field.
My little Bird, how canst thou sit; And sing amidst so many Thorns! Let me but hold upon thee get; My Love with Honour thee adorns. Thou art at present little worth; Five farthings none will give for thee. But prethee little Bird come forth, Thou of more value art to me. 'Tis true, it is Sun-shine to day, Tomorrow Birds will have a Storm; My pretty one, come thou away, My Bosom then shall keep thee warm. Thou subject art to cold o'nights, When darkness is thy covering, At day's thy dangers great by Kites, How canst thou then sit there and sing? ⟨p. 41⟩