The Poetical Works of John Skelton principally according to the edition of the Rev. Alexander Dyce. In three volumes |
 | I. |
|
[With, Lullay, lullay, lyke a chylde] |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
| II. |
 | The Poetical Works of John Skelton |  |
[With, Lullay, lullay, lyke a chylde]
With, Lullay, lullay, lyke a chylde,
Thou slepyst to long, thou art begylde.
Thou slepyst to long, thou art begylde.
My darlyng dere, my daysy floure,
Let me, quod he, ly in your lap.
Ly styll, quod she, my paramoure,
Ly styll hardely, and take a nap.
Hys hed was heuy, such was his hap,
All drowsy dremyng, dround in slepe,
That of hys loue he toke no kepe,
Let me, quod he, ly in your lap.
Ly styll, quod she, my paramoure,
Ly styll hardely, and take a nap.
Hys hed was heuy, such was his hap,
All drowsy dremyng, dround in slepe,
That of hys loue he toke no kepe,
With, Hey, lullay, &c.
With ba, ba, ba, and bas, bas, bas,
She cheryshed hym both cheke and chyn,
That he wyst neuer where he was;
He had forgoten all dedely syn.
He wantyd wyt her loue to wyn:
He trusted her payment, and lost all hys pray:
She left hym slepying, and stale away,
She cheryshed hym both cheke and chyn,
That he wyst neuer where he was;
He had forgoten all dedely syn.
He wantyd wyt her loue to wyn:
He trusted her payment, and lost all hys pray:
She left hym slepying, and stale away,
Wyth, Hey, lullay, &c.
28
The ryuers rowth, the waters wan,
She sparyd not, to wete her fete;
She wadyd ouer, she found a man
That halsyd her hartely and kyst her swete:
Thus after her cold she cought a hete.
My lefe, she sayd, rowtyth in hys bed;
I wys he hath an heuy hed,
She sparyd not, to wete her fete;
She wadyd ouer, she found a man
That halsyd her hartely and kyst her swete:
Thus after her cold she cought a hete.
My lefe, she sayd, rowtyth in hys bed;
I wys he hath an heuy hed,
Wyth, Hey, lullay, &c.
What dremyst thou, drunchard, drousy pate!
Thy lust and lykyng is from thé gone;
Thou blynkerd blowboll, thou wakyst to late,
Behold, thou lyeste, luggard, alone!
Well may thou sygh, well may thou grone,
To dele wyth her so cowardly:
I wys, powle hachet, she bleryd thyne I.
Thy lust and lykyng is from thé gone;
Thou blynkerd blowboll, thou wakyst to late,
Behold, thou lyeste, luggard, alone!
Well may thou sygh, well may thou grone,
To dele wyth her so cowardly:
I wys, powle hachet, she bleryd thyne I.
Qd Skelton, laureate.
| The Poetical Works of John Skelton | |