The cuckoo
Language: English
The cuckoo is a merry bird, she sings as she flies, She brings us good tidings and tells us no lies; She sucks the sweet flowers to make her sing clear, And she never sings "cuckoo" till summer is near. O meeting is a pleasure, but parting a grief, An inconstant lover is worse than a thief; For a thief will but rob you and [take all you have, But an inconstant lover will bring you to the grave]1. The grave it wil rot you and bring you to dust, There is not one in twenty young men girls can trust; They will kiss you, and court you and swear to be true, And the very next moment they'll bid you adieu. Come all you young women wherever you be, Build never your nest in the top of a tree; For the leaves they will wither, the branches decay, And the beauty of fair maids will soon fade away.
View original text (without footnotes)
1 in some versions: "swear to be true,/ And the very next moment they'll bring you to the grave"
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
1 in some versions: "swear to be true,/ And the very next moment they'll bring you to the grave"
Authorship:
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by George Sainton Kaye Butterworth (1885 - 1916), "The cuckoo", from Folk Songs from Sussex, no. 6. [text verified 1 time]
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 16
Word count: 159