My mistress, where sits she?
⁠What is it that charms?
The absent she's rocking,
⁠Held fast in her arms.

In pretty cage prisoned
⁠She holds a bird still;
Yet lets him fly from her,
⁠Whenever he will.

He pecks at her finger,
⁠And pecks at her lips,
And hovers and flutters,
⁠And round her he skips.

Then hasten thou homeward,
⁠In fashion to be;
If thou hast the maiden,
⁠She also hath thee.