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Poem by Thomas Heywood


The Message


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;
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,
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;
   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:
And she that hath the sweetest voice,
Tell her I will not change my choice:
ЧYet still methinks I see her frown!
   Ye pretty wantons, warble.

O fly! make haste! see, see, she falls
 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!
And when you hear her kind reply,
   Return with pleasant warblings.



Thomas Heywood


Thomas Heywood's other poems:
  1. Matin Song
  2. A Rose and a Nettle
  3. Shepherd's Song
  4. The Woodcock and the Daw
  5. Of Books and Cheese


Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • John Donne The Message ("Send home my long stray'd eyes to me")
  • Henry Van Dyke The Message ("Waking from tender sleep")
  • Duncan Scott The Message ("Wind of the gentle summer night")
  • Ella Wilcox The Message ("I have not the gift of vision")

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