Sonnet 19

THE merry cuckow, messenger of Spring,

His trompet shrill hath thrise already sounded:

That warnes al louers wayt upon their king,

Who now is comming forth with girland crounéd.

With noyse whereof the quyre of byrds resounded

Their anthemes sweet, deuizéd of Loues prayse,

That all the woods theyr ecchoes back rebounded,

As if they knew the meaning of their layes.

But mongst them all, which did Loues honor rayse

No word was heard of her that most it ought,

But she his precept proudly disobayes,

And doth his ydle message set at nought.

Therefore, O loue, unlesse she turne to thee

Ere cuckow end, let her a rebell be.