Classic Poem

Lullay, lullay, la, lullay,
My dere moder, lullay.

As I lay upon a night,
Alone in my longing,
Me thoughte I saw a wonder sight,
A maiden child rocking.

The maiden wolde withouten song
Hire child aslepe bringe;
The child thoughte she ded him wrong,
And bad his moder singe.

‘Sing now, moder,’ seide that child,
‘What me shall befalle
Hereafter whan I cum to eld,
So don modres alle.

‘Ich a moder treuly,
That can hire credel kepe,
Is wone to lullen lovely
And singen hire child aslepe.

‘Swete moder, fair and fre,
Sithen that it is so,
I preye thee that thu lulle me,
And sing sumwhat therto.’

‘Swete son,’ seide she,
‘Wherof shuld I singe?
Wist I nevere yet more of thee
But Gabrieles gretinge.

‘He grette me godly on his kne
And seide, “Heil! Marye,
Full of grace, God is with thee.
Beren thu shalt Messye.”

‘I wondred michil in my thought,
For man wold I right none.
“Marye,” he seide, “drede thee nought:
Lat God of Hevene alone.”

‘I answerede blethely,
For his word me paiyede,
“Lo! Godis servant, her am I,
Be it as thu me seide.”

‘Ther, as he seide, I thee bare
On midwenter night,
In maidenhed, withouten care,
By grace of God almight.

‘The shepperdis that wakkeden in the wolde
Herden a wonder mirthe
Of angles ther, as they tolde,
In time of thy birthe.

‘Swete son, sikirly,
No more can I say;
And, if I coude, fawen wold I
To don all at thy pay.’

‘Moder,’ seide that swete thing,
‘To singen I shall thee lere
What me fallet to suffring
And don whil I am here.

‘Allas! sone,’ seide that may,
‘Sithen that it is so,
Whorto shall I biden that day
To beren thee to this wo?’

‘Moder,’ he seide, ‘tak it lighte,
For liven I shall ayeine,
And in thy kinde, thoru my might,
For elles I wroughte in veine.

‘To my Fader I shall wende
In mine manhed to Hevene;
The Holy Ghost I shall thee sende,
With hise sondes sevene.

‘I shall thee taken, whan time is,
To me at the laste,
To ben with me, moder, in blis:
All this, than, have I caste.

‘All this werld demen I shall,
At the dom rising;
Swete moder, here is all
That I wile now sing.’

Certeinly this sighte I say,
This song I herde sing,
As I lay this Yolisday,
Alone in my longing.