A-Walking and A-Talking

Oh, the cuckoo she’s a pretty bird; she sings as she flies
She brings us good tidings; she tells us no lies
She sucketh white flowers for to keep her voice clear
And sings of my false love in a song true and clear
As I was a-walking and talking one day
I met my own true love as he came that way
Though the meeting was a pleasure, though the courting was a woe
For I found him false-hearted; he’d kiss me, and then he’d go
I wish I were a scholar and could handle the pen
I’d write to my lover and to all roving men
I would tell them of the grief and woe that attend all their lies
I would wish them have pity on the flower when it dies
I wish I were a scholar and could handle the pen
I’d write to my lover and to all roving men
I would tell them of the grief and woe that attend all their lies
I would wish them have pity on the flower when it dies
As I was a-walking and talking one day
I met my own true love as he came that way
Though the meeting was a pleasure, though the courting was a woe
For I found him false-hearted; he’d kiss me, and then he’d go
Oh, the cuckoo she’s a pretty bird; she sings as she flies
She bringeth good tidings; she telleth no lies
She sucketh white flowers for to keep her voice clear
And the night she sings her «cuckoo» the summer draweth near