The Nightingale: Whose curious Notes are here explained, In a dainty Ditty sweetly feigned.  
To a new and much affected Court Tune.  
 

YOu Gallants that resort  
To Hide Park or Tottenham Court,  
To recreate,  
And to elevate  
your senses when they are out of date,  
Come listen to my Song,  
Which doth belong  
to the Nightingales sweet tongue:  
'tis Music rare  
To hear this little, pretty, dulcet, dainty Philomela  
how she makes the Woods for to ring,  
Sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet,  
jug, jug, jug, jug, sweet, jug, jug, jug, jug,  
the Nightingale doth sing.   

The Courtiers in their pride,  
Walking by the green Wood side,  
They do much admire,  
When they hear the Choir,  
of little Birds whose notes aspire,  
Above all the rest,  
They fancy best  
the Nightingales sweet breast,  
For she doth strain  
Her little pretty, dulcet, dainty, pleasant throat,  
with music fit for a King,  
Sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet,  
jug, jug, jug, jug, sweet, jug, jug, jug, jug,  
the Nightingale doth sing.   
 

The Citizens would fain  
Hear Philomel's sweet strain,  
But that they fear  
When they come there,  
the curious constant Note to hear,  
And therefore they refuse  
And will not use  
the Woods if they can choose,  
But yet sometimes,  
This little, pretty, dulcet, dainty dilly,  
They delight to hear in the Spring,  
Sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet,  
jug, jug, jug, jug, sweet, jug, jug, jug, jug,  
the Nightingale doth sing.   

The Prentices do stray,  
Upon the first of May,  
To meet their Loves  
In the gay green Groves,  
where every one their fancy proves,  
And with Love's delight,  
From morn till night,  
they feed their appetite;  
And while they woo  
This little, pretty, dulcet, dainty creature,  
her music to them doth bring,  
Sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet,  
jug, jug, jug, jug, sweet, jug, jug, jug, jug,  
the Nightingale doth sing.   

The second part. To the same Tune.  
 

THe honest labouring Swain,  
To extenuate his pain  
When he doth plod  
To his work abroad,  
His Hay, or Corn, or Wood to load,  
It doth joy his heart,  
At Plough or Cart,  
to hear the curious part,  
Which among the Choir,  
This little pretty, dulcet, dainty Quirister  
doth bear, this delight doth bring;  
Sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet,  
jug, jug, jug, jug, sweet, jug, jug, jug, jug,  
the Nightingale doth sing.   

The Country Milkmaids sweet,  
When they go to milk their Neat,  
In a Summer's day,  
In june or May,  
delight to walk i'th' Meadows gay,  
They do think it long,  
To hear a Song,  
from Philomel's sweet tongue,  
In April they  
Expect this little, pretty, dulcet, dainty bird,  
when she first proclaims the Spring,  
Sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet,  
jug, jug, jug, jug, sweet, jug, jug, jug, jug,  
the Nightingale doth sing.   

Both men and women go,  
To the green Wood on a row,  
Both old and young  
Walk in a throng,  
both Lads and Lasses march along,  
In a Sympathy,  
For company,  
with mirth and jollity.  
It is not for Nuts,  
But to hear this little, pretty, dulcet, dainty Musician  
how she makes the Woods for to ring,  
Sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet,  
jug, jug, jug, jug, sweet, jug, jug, jug, jug,  
the Nightingale doth sing.   

Thus Country, City and Court,  
Unto the Woods resort,  
To please their minds,  
Both Lords and Hin●s,  
all sorts according to their kinds,  
Walk to take delight,  
Both morn and night;  
and as they please their sight,  
Their ears are pleased,  
To hear this little, pretty, dulcet, dainty Messenger  
what wished for news she doth bring,  
Sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet,  
jug, jug, jug, jug, sweet, jug, jug, jug, jug,  
the Nightingale doth sing.     

London, printed for F. Coules, dwelling in the Old-Baily.