The fruit of death from Paradise
Made the exiled mourn;
My fruit of life to Paradise
Makes joyful thy return.
Sing, lullaby, my little boy,
Sing, lullaby, my livës joy.
Grow up, good fruit be nourished by These fountains two of me,
That only flow with maiden's milk,
The only meat for thee.
Sing, lullaby, my little boy,
Sing, lullaby, my livës joy.
The earth has now a heaven become,
And this base bower of mine,
A princely palace unto me,
My son doth make to shine.
Sing, lullaby, my little boy,
Sing, lullaby, my livës joy.
His sight gives clearness to my sight,
When waking I him see,
And sleeping, his mild countenance
Gives favour unto me.
Sing, lullaby, my little boy,
Sing, lullaby, my livës joy.
When I him in mine arms embrace,
I feel my heart embraced,
Even by the inward grace of his.
Which he in me hath placed.
Sing, lullaby, my little boy,
Sing, lullaby, my livës joy.
And when I kiss his loving lips,
Then his sweet-smelling breath
Doth yield a savour to my soul,
That feeds love, hope, and faith.
Sing, lullaby, my little boy,
Sing, lullaby, my livës joy.
The shepherds left their keeping sheep,
For joy to see my lamb;
How may I more rejoice to see
Myself to be the dam.
Sing, lullaby, my little boy,
Sing, lullaby, my livës joy.
Three kings their treasures hither brought
Of incense, myrrh, and gold;
The heaven's treasure, and the king
That here they might behold.
Sing, lullaby, my little boy,
Sing, lullaby, my livës joy.
One sort an angel did direct,
A star did guide the other,
And all the fairest son to see
That ever had a mother.
Sing, lullaby, my little boy,
Sing, lullaby, my livës joy.
This sight I see, this child I have,
This infant I embrace,
O endless comfort of the earth,
And heaven's eternal grace.
Sing, lullaby, my little boy,
Sing, lullaby, my livës joy.
Thee sanctity herself doth serve,
Thee goodness doth attend,
Thee blessedness doth wait upon,
And virtues all commend.
Sing, lullaby, my little boy,
Sing, lullaby, my lives joy.
Great kings and prophets wished have
To see that I possess,
Yet wish I never thee to see,
If not in thankfulness.
Sing, lullaby, my little boy,
Sing, lullaby, my lives joy.
Let heaven and earth, and saints and men,
Assistance give to me,
That all their most concurring aid
Augment my thanks to thee.
Sing, lullaby, my little boy,
Sing, lullaby, my livës joy.
And let the ensuing blessèd race,
Thou wilt succeeding raise,
Join all their praises unto mine,
To multiply thy praise.
Sing, lullaby, my little boy,
Sing, lullaby, my livěs joy.
And take my service well in worth,
And Joseph's here with me,
Who of my husband bears the name,
Thy servant for to be.
Sing, lullaby, my little boy,
Sing, lullaby, my livës joy.
IN TIME OF PESTILENCE
ADIEU, farewell earth's bliss!
This world uncertain is:
Fond are life's lustful joys,
Death proves them all but toys.
None from his darts can fly;
I am sick, I must die-
Lord, have mercy on us!
Rich men, trust not in wealth,
Gold cannot buy you health;
Physic himself must fade;
All things to end are made;
The plague full swift goes by;
I am sick, I must die—
Lord, have mercy on us!
Beauty is but a flower
Which wrinkles will devour;
Brightness falls from the air;
Queens have died young and fair;
Dust hath closed Helen's eye;
I am sick, I must die-
Lord, have mercy on us!
Strength stoops unto the grave,
Worms feed on Hector brave;
Swords may not fight with fate;
Earth still holds ope her gate;
Come, come! the bells do cry;
I am sick, I must die-
Lord, have mercy on us!
Wit with his wantonness
Tasteth death's bitterness;
Hell's executioner
Hath no ears for to hear
What vain art can reply;
I am sick, I must die—
Lord, have mercy on us!
Haste therefore each degree
To welcome destiny;
Heaven is our heritage,
Earth but a player's stage.
Mount we unto the sky;
I am sick, I must die
Lord, have mercy on us!
SPRING, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king;
Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring,
Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing,
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
The palm and may make country houses gay,
Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day,
And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay,
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet,
Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit,
In every street these tunes our ears do greet,
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
Spring! the sweet Spring!
WHEN icicles hang by the wall
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
And Tom bears logs into the hall,
And milk comes frozen home in pail;
When blood is nipt, and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl
Tu-whoo!
To-whit, Tu-whoo! A merry note!
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
When all about the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the parson's saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,
And Marian's nose looks red and raw;
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl-
Then nightly sings the staring owl
Tu-whoo!
To-whit, Tu-whoo! A merry note!
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
O MISTRESS mine, where are you roaming?
O stay and hear! your true-love's coming
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