The Works in Verse and Prose of Nicholas Breton For the First Time Collected and Edited: With Memorial-Introduction, Notes and Illustrations, Glossarial Index, Facsimilies, &c. By the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart. In Two Volumes |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
A sweet lullabie.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| I. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 9. |
| 11. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
|
|
|
|
| 1. |
| I. |
|
| II. |
| 2. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
| 12. |
| 13. |
| 14. |
| 15. |
| 16. |
| 17. |
| 18. |
| 19. |
| 20. |
| 21. |
| 22. |
| 23. |
| 24. |
| 25. |
| 26. |
| 27. |
| 28. |
| 29. |
| 30. |
| 31. |
| 32. |
| 33. |
|
| 1. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
 | The Works in Verse and Prose of Nicholas Breton |  |
A sweet lullabie.
Come little babe, come silly soule,
Thy fathers shame, thy mothers griefe,
Borne as I doubt to all our dole,
And to thy selfe vnhappie chiefe:
Sing Lullabie and lap it warme,
Poore soule that thinkes no creature harme.
Thy fathers shame, thy mothers griefe,
Borne as I doubt to all our dole,
And to thy selfe vnhappie chiefe:
Sing Lullabie and lap it warme,
Poore soule that thinkes no creature harme.
Thou little thinkst and lesse doost knowe,
The cause of this thy mothers moane,
Thou wantst the wit to waile her woe,
And I my selfe am all alone:
Why doost thou weepe? why doost thou waile?
And knowest not yet what thou doost ayle.
The cause of this thy mothers moane,
Thou wantst the wit to waile her woe,
And I my selfe am all alone:
Why doost thou weepe? why doost thou waile?
And knowest not yet what thou doost ayle.
Come little wretch, ah silly heart,
Mine onely ioy what can I more:
If there be any wrong thy smart,
That may the destinies implore:
Twas I, I say, against my will,
I wayle the time, but be thou still.
Mine onely ioy what can I more:
If there be any wrong thy smart,
That may the destinies implore:
Twas I, I say, against my will,
I wayle the time, but be thou still.
And doest thou smile, oh thy sweete face,
Would God himselfe he might thee see,
No doubt thou wouldst soone purchace grace.
I know right well for thee and mee:
But come to mother babe and play,
For father false is fled away.
Would God himselfe he might thee see,
No doubt thou wouldst soone purchace grace.
I know right well for thee and mee:
But come to mother babe and play,
For father false is fled away.
Sweet boy if it by fortune chance,
Thy father home againe to send,
If death do strike me with his launce,
Yet mayst thou me to him cōmend:
If any aske thy mothers name,
Tell how by loue she purchast blame.
Thy father home againe to send,
If death do strike me with his launce,
Yet mayst thou me to him cōmend:
If any aske thy mothers name,
Tell how by loue she purchast blame.
Then will his gentle heart soone yeeld,
I know him of a noble minde,
Although a Lyon in the field,
A Lamb in towne thou shalt him finde:
Aske blessing babe, be not afrayde,
His sugred words hath me betrayde.
I know him of a noble minde,
Although a Lyon in the field,
A Lamb in towne thou shalt him finde:
Aske blessing babe, be not afrayde,
His sugred words hath me betrayde.
Then mayst thou ioy and be right glad,
Although in woe I seeme to moane,
Thy father is no Rascall lad,
A noble youth of blood and boane:
His glancing lookes if he once smile,
Right honest women may beguile.
Although in woe I seeme to moane,
Thy father is no Rascall lad,
A noble youth of blood and boane:
His glancing lookes if he once smile,
Right honest women may beguile.
Come little boy and rocke a sleepe,
Sing lullabie and be thou still,
I that can doe nought else but weepe,
Wil sit by thee and waile my fill:
God blesse my babe and lullabie,
From this thy fathers qualitie.
Sing lullabie and be thou still,
I that can doe nought else but weepe,
Wil sit by thee and waile my fill:
God blesse my babe and lullabie,
From this thy fathers qualitie.
Finis.
| The Works in Verse and Prose of Nicholas Breton | |