AS it fell upon a Day,
In the merry Month of May,
Sitting in a pleasant shade,
Which a grove of Myrtles made,
Beastes did leap, and Birds did sing,
Trees did grow, and Plants did spring:
Every thing did banish mone,
Save the Nightingale alone.
Shee (poor Bird) as all forlorne,
Leand her breast up-till a thorne,
And there sung the dolefulst Ditty,
That to heare it was great Pitty,
Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry
Teru, teru, by and by:

That to hear her so complaine,
Scarce I could from teares refraine,
For her griefes so lively showne,
Made me thinke upon mine owne.
Ah (thought I) thou mournst in vaine,
None takes pitty on thy paine:
Senselesse Trees, they cannot heare thee,
Ruthlesse Bears, they will not cheer thee.
King Pandion, he is dead.
All thy friends are lapt in Lead.
All thy fellow Birds doe sing,
Carelesse of thy sorrowing.

Whilst as fickle fortune smild,
Thou and I, were both beguild.
Every one that flatters thee,
Is no friend in misery.
Words are easie, like the wind,
Faithful friends are hard to find;
Every Man will be thy friend,
Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend:
But if store of Crowns be scant,
No man will supply thy want.
If that one be prodigal,
Bountiful they will him call:
And with such-like flattering,
Pity but he were a King.

If he be addict to vice,
Quickly him they will intice.
If to women he be bent,
They have at Commaundement.
But if Fortune once do frown,
Then farewel his great renowne.
They that fawn’d on him before,
Use his company no more.
He that is thy friend indeed,
He will helpe thee in thy need.
If thou sorrow, he will weep;
If thou wake, he cannot sleep.
Thus of every grief in heart,
He with thee doeth beare a part.
These are certain signs to know
Faithful friend from flatt’ring foe.

(attr. W. Shakespeare; probably by R. Barnfield)