XV Well did they know that service all by rote,
And there was many and many a lovely note,
Some, singing loud, as if they had complained;
Some with their notes another manner feigned;
And some did sing all out with the full throat. 75

XVI They pruned themselves, and made themselves right gay,
Dancing and leaping light upon the spray;
And ever two and two together were,
The same as they had chosen for the year,
Upon Saint Valentine’s returning day. 80

XVII Meanwhile the stream, whose bank I sate upon,
Was making such a noise as it ran on
Accordant to the sweet Birds’ harmony;
Methought that it was the best melody
Which ever to man’s ear a passage won. 85

XVIII And for delight, but how I never wot,
I in a slumber and a swoon was caught,
Not all asleep and yet not waking wholly;
And as I lay, the Cuckoo, bird unholy,
Broke silence, or I heard him in my thought. 90

XIX And that was right upon a tree fast by,
And who was then ill satisfied but I? 
Now, God, quoth I, that died upon the rood,
From thee and thy base throat, keep all that’s good,
Full little joy have I now of thy cry. 95

XX And, as I with the Cuckoo thus ’gan chide,
In the next bush that was me fast beside,
I heard the lusty Nightingale so sing,
That her clear voice made a loud rioting,
Echoing through all the green wood wide. [D] 100

XXI Ah! good sweet Nightingale! for my heart’s cheer,
Hence hast thou stayed a little while too long;
For we have had [2] the sorry Cuckoo here,
And she hath been before thee with her song;
Evil light on her! she hath done me wrong. 105

XXII But hear you now a wondrous thing, I pray;
As long as in that swooning-fit I lay,
Methought I wist right well what these birds meant,
And had good knowing both of their intent,
And of their speech, and all that they would say. 110

XXIII The Nightingale thus in my hearing spake:—­
Good Cuckoo, seek some other bush or brake,
And, prithee, let us that can sing dwell here;
For every wight eschews thy song to hear,
Such uncouth singing verily dost thou make. 115

XXIV What! quoth she then, what is’t that ails thee now? 
It seems to me I sing as well as thou;
For mine’s a song that is both true and plain,—­
Although I cannot quaver so in vain
As thou dost in thy throat, I wot not how. 120

XXV All men may understanding have of me,
But, Nightingale, so may they not of thee;
For thou hast many a foolish and quaint cry:—­
Thou say’st, OSEE, OSEE, then how may I
Have knowledge, I thee pray, what this may be? 125

XXVI Ah, fool! quoth she, wist thou not what it is? 
Oft as I say OSEE, OSEE, I wis,
Then mean I, that I should be wondrous fain
That shamefully they one and all were slain,
Whoever against Love mean aught amiss. 130