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 XXVII And also would I that they all were dead, Who do not think in love their life to lead; For who is both the God of Love to obey, Is only fit to die, I dare well say, And for that cause OSEE I cry; take heed! 135 XXVIII Ay, quoth the Cuckoo, that is a quaint law, That all must love or die; but I withdraw, And take my leave of all such company, For mine intent it neither is to die, Nor ever while I live Love's yoke to draw. 140 XXIX For lovers of all folk that be alive, The most disquiet have and least do thrive; Most feeling have of sorrow [3] woe and care, And the least welfare cometh to their share; What need is there against the truth to strive? 145 XXX What! quoth she, thou art all out of thy mind, That in thy churlishness a cause canst find To speak of Love's true Servants in this mood; For in this world no service is so good To every wight that gentle is of kind. 150