The Sparrows.

Hop about, pretty sparrows, and pick up the hay,

And the twigs, and the wool, and the moss;

Indeed, I’ll stand far enough out of your way,

Don’t fly from the window so cross.

I don’t mean to catch you, you dear little Dick,

And fasten you up in a cage;

To hop all day long on a straight bit of stick,

Or to flutter about in a rage.

I only just want to stand by you and see

How you gather the twigs for your house;

Or sit at the foot of the jenneting tree,

While you twitter a song in the boughs.

Oh dear, if you’d eat a crumb out of my hand,

How happy and glad I should be!

Then come, pretty bird, while I quietly stand

At the foot of the jenneting tree.