Classic Poem

Lullay, lullay, litel child, child reste thee a throwe;
Fro heye hider art thu sent with us to wone lowe.

Pore and litel art thu mad, unkut and unknowe,

Pine and wo to suffren her for thing that was thin owe.

Lullay, lullay, litel child, sorwe mauth thu make;
Thu art sent into this world, as tu were forsake.

Lullay, lullay, litel grom, king of alle thinge,
Whan I thenke of thy methchef, me listet wol litel singe;

But caren I may for sorwe, if love wer in min herte,
For swiche peines as thu shalt drien were nevere non so smerte.

Lullay, lullay, litel child, well mauth thu crie,
For than thy body is bleik and blak, sone after shall ben drie.

Child, it is a weping dale that thu art comen inne;
Thy pore clutes it proven well, thy bed mad in the binne;
Cold and hunger thu must tholen as thu were geten in senne,
And after deyen on the tree for love of all mankenne.
Lullay, lullay, litel child, no wonder thou thu care;
Thu art comen amonges hem that thy deth shulen yare.

Lullay, lullay, litel child, for sorwe mauth thu grete;
The anguis that thu suffren shalt shall don the blod to swete;
Naked, bunden shaltu ben, and seithen sore bete,

No thing free upon thy body of pine shall be lete.
Lullay, lullay, litel child, it is all for thy fo,
The harde bond of love longing that thee hat bunden so.

Lullay, lullay, litel child, litel child thin ore!
It is all for oure owen gilt that thu art peined sore;
But wolde we yet kinde be, and liven after thy lore,
And leten senne for thy love, ne keptest thu no more.
Lullay, lullay, litel child, softe slep and faste,
In sorwe endet every love but thin at the laste.