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Poem by William Browne
A Concert of Birds
The mounting lark (day's herald) got on wing, Bidding each bird choose out his bough and sing. The lofty treble sung the little wren; Robin the mean, that best of all loves men; The nightingale the tenor, and the thrush The counter-tenor sweetly in a bush. And that the music might be full in parts, Birds from the groves flew with right willing hearts; But (as it seem'd) they thought (as do the swains, Which tune their pipes on sack'd Hibernia's plains) There should some droning part be, therefore will'd Some bird to fly into a neighb'ring field, In embassy unto the King of Bees, To aid his partners on the flowers and trees Who, condescending, gladly flew along To bear the bass to his well-tuned song. The crow was willing they should be beholding For his deep voice, but being hoarse with scolding, He thus lends aid; upon an oak doth climb, And nodding with his head, so keepeth time. From Britannia's Pastorals.
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