University of Virginia Library

5. She Sang, Dear Son, Lullay

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MS. Ashmole 189 (Sum. Catal. No. 6777)

Thys yonder nyȝth y sawe A syȝte,
A sterre As bryȝth As ony daye
& euer A-monge A maydene songe,
‘by by, lully, lullaye.’
Thys mayden hyȝth mary, she was full mylde,
she knelyde by-fore here oune dere chylde.
She lullyde, She lappyde,
she rullyde, she wrapped,
She wepped wyth-owtyne nay;
She rullyde hym, she dressyde hym,
she lyssyd hym, she blessyd hym,
She sange ‘dere sone, lullay’.
She sayde, ‘dere sone, ly styll & slepe.
What cause hast þu so sore to wepe,

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Wyth syȝhyng, wyth snobbynge,
wyth crying & wyth scrycchynge
All þis londe daye;
And þus wakynge wyth sore wepynge
Wyth many salt terys droppynge?
ly stylle, dere sone, I þe pray.’
‘Moder,’ he sayde, ‘for mane I wepe so sore
& for hys loue I shall be tore
Wyth scorgyng, wyth thretnyng,
wyth bobbyng, wyth betyng
for sothe, moder, I saye;
And one A crosse full hy hanggyng,
And to my herte foll sore styckynge
A spere on good frydaye.’
Thys maydene Aunswerde wyth heuy chere,
‘Shalt þu thus sovere, my swete sone dere?
Now y morne, now y muse,
I All gladnes refuse;
I, euer fro thys day.
My dere sone, y þe pray,
thys payne þu put Away,
and yf hyt possybyll be may.’