The little pretty nightingale
Among the leaves grene:
I would I were with her all night-
But yet ye wot not whom I mene.
The nightingale sat on a brere 1
Among the thornes sharpe and keene.
And comfort me with merry chere-
But yet ye wot not whom I mene.
She did appear all on her kind
A lady right well to be scene.
With words of love told me her mind-
But yet ye wot not whom I mene.
It did me good upon her to look,
Her corse was clothed all in grene;
Away fro me her heart she took-
But yet ye wot not whom I mene.
"Lady," I cry'd with ruefull mone,
"Have mind of me that true hath bene:
For I love but you alone."
But yet ye wot not whom I mene.
1 Brier
