He did nothing perdie But sit upon my knee. Phyllyp had leave to go To pike my lytell toe; Phyllip might be bold And do what he wold. Phyllyp wold seek and take All the fleas blake That he could there espy With his wanton eye. * * * * * That vengeance I aske and cry By way of exclamation On the whole nation Of cattes, wyld and tame. God send them sorrowe and shame! That cat specially That slew so cruelly My lytell prety sparowe That I brought up at Carowe. * * * * * When I remember it, How pretily it wold sit Many times and oft On my finger aloft! His bill between my lippes-- It was my prety Phyppes! He was wont to repayre And go in at my spayre, And creep in at my gore Of my gown before, Flyckering with his wings. Alas! my heart it stings Remembrynge prety things! Of fortune this the chance Standeth on variance Oft time after pleasaunce, Trouble and grievaunce No man can be sure All way to have pleasure. As well perceive ye may How my desport and play From me was taken away By Gyb, our cat, savage, That in a furious rage Caught Phyllyp by the head And slew him there, starke dead. _Kyrie eleison, Christe, eleison, Kyrie eleison_, For Phyllyp Sparowe’s soule Set in our bead roll Let us now whisper A Pater noster. All manner of birdes in your kind So none be left behind, Some to sing and some to say, Some to weep and some to pray Every birde in his laye. The goldfink, the wagtayle, The jangling pie to chatter Of this dolorous matter; And robyn redbreast He shall be the priest The requiem mass to sing Softly warbelynge. With help of the red sparrow And the chattringe swallow This hearse for to hallow.