Now the villein, who had listened to this song, thought within himself that might he snare so marvellous a bird, very easily could he sell him at a great price; or if he might not sell him, at least he could set him fast in a cage and hearken his lay at pleasure both early and late. So he climbed within the tree and sought and searched and pried until he marked the branch from whence the bird was wont to sing. There he set a cunning snare, and waited to see what time should make clear. At the hour of vespers the bird returned to the orchard, and lighting upon the branch was fast taken in the net. Then the villein came forth, and mounting quickly, joyously seized him in his hand. "Small profit will you have of your labour," said the bird, "for I can pay but a poor ransom." "At least I shall be paid in songs," answered the villein. "You were wont to sing for your own pleasure, now you will carol for mine." "Think not so," replied the bird. "He who is used to the freedom of wood and meadow and river cannot live prisoned in a cage. What solace may I find there, or joy? Open your hand, fair sweet friend, for be assured no captive has a heart for songs." "By my faith, then, you shall be served at table." "Never will you have dined worse, for there is nothing of me. I pray you to let me go, for it were a sin to slay me." "By my faith, you talk and talk; the more you plead, the less will I grant." "Certes," answered the bird, "you are in your right, for such is the law. Many a time have I heard tell that the uncharitable granteth no alms. But there is a proverb that teaches that often man gives in his own interest what cannot be taken from him by force. Now, if you release me from this net I will make you free of three secrets which are little known to men of your lineage, and from which you may draw much profit." "Tell me these secrets," said the villein, "and I will open my hand." "Such faith have I in you," answered the bird, "that I will speak only when you free me from the snare." The villein opened his hand, and the bird flew to a place of surety. His feathers were all ruffled, for he had been grossly handled by a glove not of silk but of wool, so he preened and plumed himself carefully with his beak. But the villein grew impatient, and urged him to pay his ransom. Now the bird was full of guile, so presently he made answer to the churl. "Hear now the first of my three weighty secrets--Do not believe all that you may hear." The villein frowned with anger, and answered that he knew it well. "Fair friend, forget it never," replied the bird. "Much I fear that I did foolishly in letting you from the snare. This secret was plain to me before; but now tell me the two others." "They are fair and wise," said the bird. "Listen well to my second weighty secret--Do not regret what you have never lost."