XVI. INTRODUCTION. 



The Birds chant melody on every bush. 



Shakespeare. 



All Nature's difference keeps all Nature's peace. 



Pope. 



Whan that Aprille with his schowres swoote 

 The drought of Marche hath perced to the roote 



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And smale fowles maken melodie 

 That slepen al the night with open yhe. 



Chaucer — Prologue. 



You winged Choristers, that dwell 



In woods, and there maintain a quire, 

 Whose music doth all art excel, 



Naught can we emulate, but admire ; 

 You, living galleys of the air. 



That through the strongest tempest slide, 

 And, by your wanton flight, who dare 



The fury of the winds divide ; 

 Praise Him, and in this harmony and love, 

 Let your soft quire contend with that above. 



Thos. Stanley, 1647. 



Beautiful birds of lightsome wing. 

 Bright creatures that come with the voice of spring, 

 We see you arrayed in the hues of morn, 

 Yet 5'e dream not of pride, and ye wist not of scorn. 

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Sweet birds, that breathe the spirit of song, 

 And surround Heaven's gate in melodious throng. 

 Who rise with the earliest beams of day 

 Your morning tribute of thanks to pay. 



But most of all it wins my admiration. 

 To view the structure of this little work — 

 A bird's nest. Mark it well, within, without. 

 No tool had he that wrought, no knife to cut. 

 No nail to fix, no bodkin to insert. 

 No glue to join ; his little beak was all : — 

 And yet how neatly finish'd ! what nice hand. 

 With every implement and meane of art. 

 And twenty years apprenticeship to boot 

 Could make me such another ? 



HuRDis—The Village Curate. 



