A LULLABY.
|
COme little babe, come silly soul,
|
thy fathers shame & mothers grief
|
Born as I doubt to all our doles,
|
and to thyself unhappy chief.
|
Sing Lullaby and keep it warm,
|
Poor soul it thinks no creature harm,
|
Thou little thinkst, and least doth know,
|
the cause of this thy mothers moan.
|
Thou wantest wit to wail or woe,
|
and I myself am left alone:
|
Why dost thou weep, why dost thou wail
|
And knowst not what doth thee ail:
|
Come silly wretch, ah silly heart,
|
my only joy what can I more,
|
If there be any wrong thy smart,
|
that may thy destiny deplore.
|
Tis I, I say, against my will,
|
I wait the time, but be thou still;
|
And dost thou smile, O thou sweet face,
|
I would thy Dad the same might see,
|
No doubt but it would purchase grace,
|
I know it will for thee and me:
|
But come to Mother babe and play,
|
Poor Father false is fled away.
|
Sweet Babe if[]t be thy fortune chance,
|
thy father home again to send,
|
If death doth strike me with his Lance,
|
yet mayst thou me to him commend.
|
If any ask thy Mothers name,
|
Tell how by love she purchast blame;
|
Then will his gentle heart soon yield,
|
I know him of a Noble mind.
|
Although a Lyon in the field,
|
a Lamb in town thou shalt him find;
|
Ask blessing Lad, be not afraid,
|
His sugred Lips hath we betrayd;
|
Then mayst thou joy and be right glad,
|
although in woe I seem to mourn,
|
Thy father is no Rascal Lad,
|
an able youth of blood and bone.
|
His glanceing look if he once smile,
|
Right honest women will beguile:
|
Come little boy and rock asleep,
|
sing Lullaby and do not cry;
|
I can do nought else but weep,
|
and sit by the Lullaby;
|
God bless the babe and Lullaby,
|
From this thy Fathers quality.
|
|
|
|
|
|