| COME little babe, come silly soul, | |
| Thy father's shame, thy mother's grief, | |
| Born as I doubt to all our dole, | |
| And to thyself unhappy chief: | |
| Sing lullaby, and lap it warm, | 5 |
| Poor soul that thinks no creature harm. | |
| |
| Thou little think'st and less dost know | |
| The cause of this thy mother's moan; | |
| Thou want'st the wit to wail her woe, | |
| And I myself am all alone: | 10 |
| Why dost thou weep? why dost thou wail? | |
| And know'st not yet what thou dost ail. | |
| |
| Come, little wretch—ah, silly heart! | |
| Mine only joy, what can I more? | |
| If there be any wrong thy smart, | 15 |
| That may the destinies implore: | |
| 'Twas I, I say, against my will, | |
| I wail the time, but be thou still. | |
| |
| And dost thou smile? O, thy sweet face! | |
| Would God Himself He might thee see!— | 20 |
| No doubt thou wouldst soon purchase grace, | |
| I know right well, for thee and me: | |
| But come to mother, babe, and play, | |
| For father false is fled away. | |
| |
| Sweet boy, if it by fortune chance | 25 |
| Thy father home again to send, | |
| If death do strike me with his lance, | |
| Yet mayst thou me to him commend: | |
| If any ask thy mother's name, | |
| Tell how by love she purchased blame. | 30 |
| |
| Then will his gentle heart soon yield: | |
| I know him of a noble mind: | |
| Although a lion in the field, | |
| A lamb in town thou shalt him find: | |
| Ask blessing, babe, be not afraid, | 35 |
| His sugar'd words hath me betray'd. | |
| |
| Then mayst thou joy and be right glad; | |
| Although in woe I seem to moan, | |
| Thy father is no rascal lad, | |
| A noble youth of blood and bone: | 40 |
| His glancing looks, if he once smile, | |
| Right honest women may beguile. | |
| |
| Come, little boy, and rock asleep; | |
| Sing lullaby and be thou still; | |
| I, that can do naught else but weep, | 45 |
| Will sit by thee and wail my fill: | |
| God bless my babe, and lullaby | |
| From this thy father's quality. | |
