"I love thee so, I love thee so, 
I will not ever let thee go," 
Shame said, and kissed me tenderly; 
"I will be to thee for thy wife,
And all the nights and days of life 
Shall find me faithful unto thee. 

"The vine and peaches thou dost set 
Shall bear my mark, lest thou forget. 
The labour of thy weary hands 
We two will eat; we two will drink 
Life's cup, and, when thy soul-fires sink, 
I'll blow flame up into the brands.

"Hate me or love me: I am thine,
My tears are in thy cup for wine,
My laughter is thy musicking; 
No strength in fennel shalt thou find 
To put my weakness from thy mind, 
To loosen these my hands that cling. 

"I love thee so, my mate, my mate,
That when thy hearers for thee wait, 
I will not wholly let thee go: 
But I will plant above thy sleep 
Rowers that shall my memory keep 
When thou art earth in earth below." 

Of all the birds that I do know
Philip my Sparrow hath no peer;
For sit she high or lie 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.

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 heaven to hear my Phip
How she can chirp with cherry lip.

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

And yet beside all this good sport
My Philip both can sing and dance,
With new found toys of sundry sort
My Philip can both prick and prance;
And if you say but "fend cut Phip"
Lord! how the peat will turn and skip!

Her feathers are so fresh of hue
And so well provéd every day,
So lacks no oil, I warrant you,
To trim her tail both trick and gay;
And though her mouth be somewhat wide,
Her tongue is sweet and short beside.

And for the rest I dare compare
She is both tender, sweet and soft;
She never lacketh dainty fare,
But is well fed, and feedeth oft;
For if my Phip have best to eat,
I warrant you, Phip lacks no meat.

And then if that her meat be good
And such as like do love alway,
She will lay lips thereon, by rood!
And see that none be cast away;
For when she once hath felt a fit,
Philip will cry still, "Yet, yet, yet!"

And to tell truth, he were to blame
Which had so fine a bird as she,
To make him all this goodly game
Without suspect or jealousy;
He were a churl and knew no good
Would see her faint for lack of food.

Wherefore I sing, and ever shall,
To praise as I have often proved,
There is no bird amongst them all
So worthy for to be beloved.
Let others praise what bird they will,
Sweet Philip shall be my bird still.