Bot.-[Sings]

The finch, the sparrow, and the lark,
The plain-song cuckoo gray,

Whose note full many a man doth mark,
And dares not answer nay;-

for, indeed, who would set his wit to so foolish a bird? Who would give a bird the lie, though he cry "cuckoo" never so?

Tita.-I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again;

Mine ear is much enamor'd of thy note;
So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape;
And thy fair virtue's force perforce doth move

me

On the first view to say, to swear, I love thee. Bot. Methinks, mistress, you should have little reason

for that; and yet, to say the truth, reason and love keep little company together nowadays; the more the pity, that some honest neighbors will not make them friends. Nay, I can gleek upon occasion.

Tita.-Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful.

Bot. Not so, neither; but if I had wit enough to get out of this wood, I have enough to serve mine own turn.

Tita. Out of this wood do not desire to go;

Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no.

I am a spirit of no cominon rate;

The summer still doth tend upon my state;
And I do love thee; therefore, go with me;

I'll give thee fairies to attend on thee;

And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep,
And sing, while thou on pressed flowers dost

sleep;

And I will purge thy mortal grossness so,

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