Бёрд Уильям - The Nightingale - текст песни (слова)

The Nightingale so pleasant & so gay,
 in greenewood groves, delights to make his dwelling,
 in fields to flye, chanting his roundelaye,
 at lyberty, against the Cage rebelling.
 But my poore hart with sorowes over swelling,
 through bondayge vyle, bynding my freedome short,
 no pleasure takes in these his sports excelling,
 nor in his song receiveth no comfort.