The Nightingale

the nightingale
so soon as april bringeth
unto her rested sense a perfect waking
while late bare earth
proud of new clothing springeth
sings out her woes a thorn her song book making
and mournfully bewailing
her throat in tunes expresseth
what grief her breast expresseth



Credits
Writer(s): Thomas Weelkes, Henry Leslie
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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