On a GOLDFINCH starved to Death in his Cage. 1. TIME was when I was free as air, The thistles downy seed my fare, My drink the morning dew; I perch'd at will on ev'ry spray, My form genteel, my plumage gay, My strains for ever new. 2. But gawdy plumage, sprightly strain, And form genteel were all in vain And of a transient date, For caught and caged and starved to death, In dying sighs my little breath Soon pass'd the wiry grate. 3. Thanks, gentle swain, for all my woes, And thanks for this effectual close And cure of ev'ry ill! More cruelty could none express, And I, if you had shewn me less Had been your pris'ner still.