| YE little birds that sit and sing | |
| Amidst the shady valleys, | |
| And see how Phillis sweetly walks | |
| Within her garden-alleys; | |
| Go, pretty birds, about her bower; | 5 |
| Sing, pretty birds, she may not lower; | |
| Ah me! methinks I see her frown! | |
| Ye pretty wantons, warble. | |
| |
| Go tell her through your chirping bills, | |
| As you by me are bidden, | 10 |
| To her is only known my love, | |
| Which from the world is hidden. | |
| Go, pretty birds, and tell her so, | |
| See that your notes strain not too low, | |
| For still methinks I see her frown; | 15 |
| Ye pretty wantons, warble. | |
| |
| Go tune your voices' harmony | |
| And sing, I am her lover; | |
| Strain loud and sweet, that every note | |
| With sweet content may move her: | 20 |
| And she that hath the sweetest voice, | |
| Tell her I will not change my choice: | |
| —Yet still methinks I see her frown! | |
| Ye pretty wantons, warble. | |
| |
| O fly! make haste! see, see, she falls | 25 |
| Into a pretty slumber! | |
| Sing round about her rosy bed | |
| That waking she may wonder: | |
| Say to her, 'tis her lover true | |
| That sendeth love to you, to you! | 30 |
| And when you hear her kind reply, | |
| Return with pleasant warblings. | |
