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Tjp then spake the pretty parrot,
i May Colvin, where have you been ?
What has become o' false Sir John That went with you yestreen ?'—
' O hold your tongue, my pretty parrot I
Nor tell no tales o' me ; Your cage shall be made o' the beaten gold
And the spokes o' ivorie.'
Up then spake her father dear,
In the bed-chamber where he lay;
' What ails the pretty parrot,
That prattles so long ere day ?'—
' There came a cat to my cage, master, I thought 't would have worried me;
And I was calling to May Coivin To take the cat from me.'