My sweet bird, Thus it is betide Though thou be king veray; But, nevertheless, I will not cease To sing, by by, lullay."

The child then spake; in his talking he to his mother said,-- "I bekid[K] am king, in crib though I be laid; For angels bright Down to me light, Thou knowest it is no nay, And of that sight Thou mayest be light To sing, by by, lullay."

"Now, sweet Son, since thou art king, why art thou laid in stall?

Why not thou ordain thy bedding in some great kinges hall?

Methinketh it is right That king or knight Should be in good array; And them among It were no wrong To sing, by by, lullay."

"Mary, mother, I am thy child, though I be laid in stall, Lords and dukes shall worship me and so shall kinges all.

Ye shall well see That kinges three Shall come on the twelfth day; For this behest Give me thy breast And sing, by by, lullay."

"Now tell me, sweet Son, I thee pray, thou art my love and dear, How should I keep thee to thy pay[L] and make thee glad of cheer?

For all thy will I would fulfil Thou weet'st full well in fay, And for all this I will thee kiss, And sing, by by, lullay."

"My dear mother, when time it be, take thou me up aloft, And set me upon thy knee and handle me full soft.

And in thy arm Thou wilt me warm, And keep me night and day; If I weep And may not sleep Thou sing, by by, lullay."

"Now, sweet Son, since it is so, all things are at thy will, I pray thee grant to me a boon if it be right and skill, That child or man, That will or can, Be merry upon my day; To bliss them bring, And I shall sing, Lullay, by by, lullay."

FOOTNOTES:

[I] Endris night: last night.

[J] Hay.

[K] Nevertheless.

[L] Peace.

A ROCKING HYMN.

Sweet baby, sleep; what ails my dear?

What ails my darling thus to cry?

Be still, my child, and lend thine ear To hear me sing thy lullaby.

My pretty lamb, forbear to weep; Be still, my dear; sweet baby, sleep.

Thou blessed soul, what canst thou fear?

What things to thee can mischief do?

Thy G.o.d is now thy Father dear; His holy Spouse thy Mother, too.

Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

Whilst thus thy lullaby I sing, For thee great blessings ripening be; Thine eldest brother is a king, And hath a kingdom bought for thee.

Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

Sweet baby, sleep, and nothing fear, For whosoever thee offends, By thy protector threatened are, And G.o.d and angels are thy friends.

Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

When G.o.d with us was dwelling here, In little babes he took delight: Such innocents as thou, my dear, Are ever precious in his sight.

Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

A little infant once was he, And Strength-in-Weakness then was laid Upon his Virgin-Mother's knee, That power to thee might be conveyed.

Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

In this thy frailty and thy need He friends and helpers doth prepare, Which thee shall cherish, clothe, and feed, For of thy weal they tender are.

Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

The King of kings, when he was born, Had not so much for outward ease; By him such dressings were not worn, Nor such-like swaddling-clothes as these.

Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

Within a manger lodged thy Lord, Where oxen lay and a.s.ses fed; Warm rooms we do to thee afford, An easy cradle or a bed.

Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

The wants that he did then sustain Have purchased wealth, my babe, for thee, And by his torments and his pain Thy rest and ease secured be.

My baby, then, forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

Thou hast (yet more), to perfect this, A promise and an earnest got Of gaining everlasting bliss, Though thou, my babe, perceiv'st it not.

Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

_George Wither._

A CRADLE-SONG OF THE VIRGIN.

The Virgin stills the crying Of Jesus, sleepless lying; And singing for his pleasure, Thus calls upon her treasure, "My darling, do not weep, my Jesu, sleep!"

O lamb, my love inviting, O star, my soul delighting, O flower of mine own bearing, O jewel past comparing!

My darling, etc.

My Child, of might indwelling, My sweet, all sweets excelling, Of bliss the fountain flowing, The dayspring ever glowing My darling, etc.

My joy, my exultation, My spirit's consolation; My son, my spouse, my brother, O listen to thy mother!

My darling, etc.

Say, would'st thou heavenly sweetness, Or love of answering meetness?

Or is fit music wanting?

Ho! angels, raise your chanting!

My darling, etc.

_Translated from the Latin by Rev. H. R. Bramley._