Lesbia on Her Sparrow

Tell me not of joy: there's none
Now my little sparrow's gone;
He, just as you
Would toy and woo,
He would chirp and flatter me,
He would hang the wing awhile,
Till at length he saw me smile,
Lord, how sullen he would be!

He would catch a crumb, and then
Sporting let it go again.
He from my lip
Would moisture sip.
He would from my trencher feed,
Then would hop, and then would run,
And cry "Philip" when h' had done,
O whose heart can choose but bleed!

O, how eager would he fight!
And ne'er hurt tho' he did bite:
No morn did pass
But on my glass
He would sit, and mark, and do
What I did: now ruffle all
His feathers o'er, now let 'em fall,
And then straightway sleek 'em too.

Whence will Cupid get his darts
Feather'd now to pierce our hearts?
A wound he may,
Not love convey,
Now this faithful bird is gone.
O let mournful turtles join
With loving red-breasts, and combine
To sing dirges o'er his stone.