My Bird is a Round-head,  
Being a very pleasant and true Relation of a man in Northamptonshire, that kept a tame Owl in his house, whom he called Round-head; and how one of his neighbours had him before a Justice, for calling his Owl Round-head.  
To the tune of, let us to the wars again.  

 

AS I to London took my way,  
A pretty passage caused me to stay,  
Which you shall know if you attend,  
No honest man I will offend;  
You that are wise in your conceits,  
That with mere toys do trouble your pates,  

To whit to who, come say what you will,  
My Bird she is a Round-head still.    

In Northamtonshire a man did dwell,  
That sports and pastimes loved well,  
A Maypole be set up on hie,  
To recreate all Comers by;  
But one that was more nice than wise,  
Was much offended and termed it a vice:  

To whit to who, come say what you will,  
My Bird she is a Round-head still.    

Neithbour (quoth he) you are profane,  
I wonder you will be so vain,  
A Maypole here for to erect,  
Me thinks such toys you should reject;  
Young folk about it dance and play,  
It leads their minds too much astray:  

To whit to who, come say what you will,  
My Bird she a Round-head still,    

I'll have it down believe me friend,  
Although that half my estate I spend,  
'tis but a kind of an Idol vain,  
Against it honest men complain;  
And thus this understanding Clown,  
Did still protest to have it down:  

To whit to who, come say what you will,  
My Bird she is a Round-head still.    

Kind neighbour quoth the other man,  
How long have you been a Puritan?  
Zounds ●he Maypole here shall stand,  
It shall not down at your command;  
You I have it down, I pray Sir, why?  
Come show me your authority?  

To whit to who, come say what you will,  
My Bird he is a Round-head still.    

This man he had an Owl in his house,  
That killed many a Rat and Mouse,  
And cause he would do w●a● he list,  
He brought her otr upon his fist;  
And to his neighbour showed her strait,  
That still stood bawling at his gate:  

To whit to who, come say what you will,  
My Bird she is a Round-head still.     

The second part,  
to the same tune.  
 
 

NEeighbour, what Bird is this (quoth he)  
That here upon my fist you see?  
'tis a Mag-howlet t'other replied,  
That on your fist doth now abide;  
No, 'tis a Round-head on my fist,  
I hope I may call my Bird what I list:  

To whit to who, come say what you will,  
My Bird she is a Round-head still.    

The man began to fret and chafe,  
Whilst he with his Owl did hearty laugh,  
His laughing made him almost mad,  
The one was merry the other sad:  
My pretty Round-head hurteth none,  
Among other Roundheads my Bird is one:  

To whit to who, etc.    

She meddles not with State affairs,  
Or sets her neighbours by the ears,  
No Cross nor Maypole makes her start,  
Nor can she preach in Cup or Cart;  
She seeks to pull no Organs down,  
Nor on an Image casts a frown:  

To whit to who, etc.    

To be revenged the other sought,  
He called him knave and all to nought,  
Before a justice he did him bring,  
And told the justice every thing;  
Before the justice they came I wis,  
But all they could get of him was this,  

To whit to who, come say what you will  
My Bird she is Round-head still.    

Sirrah quoth the justice hold your-tongue,  
Good men methinks you should not wrong,  
Sir quoth the man, nor have I yet,  
Though he thinks so for want of wit;  
I have a Bird he says she's an Owl,  
But I may call her Round-head or fool:  

To whit to who, come say what you will,  
My Bird she is a Round-head still,    

The justice knew not what to say,  
But friendly bid him go his way,  
Then home he went being dismissed  
With his Round-head upon his fist;  
I wonder men so simple be,  
They can be so displeaed with me:  

To whit to who, etc.    

There's none my Round-head vill despise,  
But such as are known to be unwise,  
Giggy-headed fools and dolts,  
Sisters and unbridled Colts;  
My Round-head is a gallant Bird,  
Good words to her I pray afford:  

To whit to who, come say what you will,  
My Bird it is a Round-head still.     
Humphrey Crouch.  
FINIS.   

Printed at London for Richard Harper, at the Bible and Harp in Smithfield. 1642.