The merry cuckoo, messenger of spring
His trumpet shrill hath thrice already sounded:
That warns all lovers wait upon their king
Who now is coming forth with garlands crowned

With noise thereof the quire of birds resounded
Their anthems sweet devised of love's praise
That all the woods their echoes back rebounded
As if they knew the meaning of their lays

But 'mongst them all, which did Love's honour raise
No word was heard of her that most it ought
But she his precept proudly disobeys
And doth this idle message set at nought

Therefore O love, unless she turn to thee
Ere Cuckoo end, let her a rebel be