Bartlet: Of All the Birds

Of all the birds that I do know
Philip my sparrow hath no peer
For sit she high, or sit she low
Be she far off, or be she near
There is no bird so fair, so fine
Nor yet so fresh as this of mine

For when she once hath felt a fit
Philip will cry still:
Yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet
Yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet

For when she once hath felt a fit
Philip will cry still:
Yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet
Yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet

Come in a morning merrily
When Philip hath been lately fed;
Or in an evening soberly
When Philip list to go to bed
It is a heav'n to hear my Phipp
How she can chirp with merry lip

For when she once hath felt a fit
Philip will cry still:
Yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet
Yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet

For when she once hath felt a fit
Philip will cry still:
Yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet
Yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet

She never wanders far abroad
But is at home when I do call;
If I command she lays on load
With lips, with teeth, with tongue and all
She chants, she chirps, she makes such cheer
That I believe she hath no peer

For when she once hath felt a fit
Philip will cry still:
Yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet
Yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet

For when she once hath felt a fit
Philip will cry still:
Yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet
Yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet, yet