A Sweet Lullaby

COME, little babe; come, silly soul,

Thy father's shame, thy mother's grief,

Born, as I doubt, to all our dole

And to thyself unhappy chief:

Sing lullaby, and lap it warm,

Poor soul that thinks no creature harm.

Thou little think'st and less dost know

The cause of this thy mother's moan,

Thou want'st the wit to wail her woe,

And I myself am all alone.

Why dost thou weep? why dost thou wail?

And knowest not yet what thou dost ail.

Come, little wretch -- ah, silly heart,

Mine only joy, what can I more?

If there be any wrong thy smart,

That may the destines implore,

'Twas I, I say, against my will;

I wail the time, but be thou still.

And dost thou smile? Oh, thy sweet face,

Would God himself he might thee see;

No doubt thou wouldst soon purchase grace,

I know right well, for thee and me,

But come to mother, babe, and play,

For father false is fled away.

Sweet boy, if it by fortune chance

Thy father home again to send,

If death do strike me with his lance,

Yet mayst thou me to him commend;

If any ask thy mother's name,

Tell how by love she purchased blame.

Then will his gentle heart soon yield;

I know him of a noble mind.

Although a lion in the field,

A lamb in town thou shalt him find.

Ask blessing, babe, be not afraid;

His sugared words hath me betrayed.

Then mayst thou joy and be right glad,

Although in woe I seem to moan,

Thy father is no rascal lad,

A noble youth of blood and bone;

His glancing looks, if he once smile,

Right honest women may beguile.

Come, little boy, and rock asleep,

Sing lullaby, and be thou still;

I that can do nought else but weep

Will sit by thee and wail my fill.

God bless my babe, and lullaby,

From this thy father's quality.

Nicholas Breton

Phillida and Coridon

IN the merry month of May,

In a morn by break of day,

Forth I walked by the wood-side,

Whenas May was in his pride.

There I spiëd, all alone,

Phillida and Coridon,

Much ado there was, God wot,

He would love and she would not.

She said, Never man was true;

He said, None was false to you.

He said he had loved her long.

She said, Love should have no wrong.

Coridon would kiss her then;

She said maids must kiss no men

Till they did for good and all.

Then she made the shepherd call

All the heavens to witness truth,

Never loved a truer youth.

Thus, with many a pretty oath,

Yea and nay, and faith and troth,

Such as silly shepherds use

When they will not love abuse,

Love which had been long deluded

Was with kisses sweet concluded,

And Phillida with garlands gay

Was made the lady of the May.

Nicholas Breton

An Assurance

SAY that I should say I love ye,

Would you say 'tis but a saying?

But if love in prayers move ye,

Will ye not be moved with praying?

Think I think that love should know ye,

Will you think 'tis but a thinking?

But if love the thought do show ye,

Will ye lose your eyes with winking?

Write that I do write you blessed,

Will you write 'tis but a writing?

But if truth and love confess it,

Will ye doubt the true inditing?

No, I say, and think, and write it,

Write, and think, and say your pleasure;

Love, and truth, and I indite it,

You are blessed out of measure.

Nicholas Breton

A Pastoral

SWEET birds! that sit and sing among the shady valleys,

And see how sweetly Phyllis walks amid her garden alleys,

Go round about her bower, and sing as ye are bidden:

To her is only known his faith that from the world is hidden,

And she among you all that hath the sweetest voice,

Go chirp of him that never told, yet never changed, his voice.

And not forget his faith that lived forever loved

Yet never made his fancy known, nor ever favor moved;

And ever let your ground of all your grace be this--

"To you, to you, to you the due of love and honor is,

On you, on you, on you our music all attendeth,

For as on you our Muse begun, in you all music endeth."

Nicholas Breton

Pretty Twinkling Starry Eyes

PRETTY twinkling starry eyes!

How did Nature first devise

Such a sparkling in your sight

As to give Love such delight

As to make him, like a fly,

Play with looks until he die?

Sure you were not made at first

For such mischief to be cursed,

As to kill affection's care

That doth only truth declare.

Where worth's wonders never wither

Love and Beauty live together.

Blessed eyes! then give your blessing

That, in passion's best expressing,

Love, that only lives to grace ye,

May not suffer to deface ye;

But in gentle thoughts directions,

Show the praise of your perfections.

Nicholas Breton

An Odd Conceit

LOVELY kind, and kindly loving,

Such a mind were worth the moving;

Truly fair, and fairly true--

Where are all these, but in you?

Wisely kind, and kindly wise;

Blessed life, where such love lies!

Wise, and kind, and fair, and true--

Lovely live all these in you.

Sweetly dear, and dearly sweet;

Blessed, where these blessings meet!

Sweet, fair, wise, kind, blessed, true--

Blessed be all these in you!

Nicholas Breton

Who Can Live In Heart So Glad

WHO can live in heart so glad

As the merry country lad?

Who upon a fair green balk

May at pleasure sit and walk,

And amid the azure skies

See the morning sun arise,

While he hears in every spring

How the birds do chirp and sing:

Or before the hounds in cry

See the hare go stealing by:

Or along the shallow brook,

Angling with a baited hook,

See the fishes leap and play

In a blessed sunny day:

Or to hear the partridge call

Till she have her covey all:

Or to see the subtle fox,

How the villain plies the box;

After feeding on his prey,

How he closely steals away,

Through the hedge and down the furrow

Till he gets into his burrow:

Then the bee to gather honey;

And the little black-haired coney,

On a bank for sunny place,

With her forefeet wash her face,--

Are not these, with thousands moe

Than the courts of kings do know,

The true pleasing spirit's sights

That may breed true love's delights?

Nicholas Breton

A Pastoral

ON a hill there grows a flower,

  Fair befall the dainty sweet!

By that flower there is a bower

  Where the heavenly Muses meet.

In the bower there is a chair,

  Fringed all about with gold,

Where doth sit the fairest fair

  That did ever eye behold.

It is Phyllis fair and bright,

  She that is the shepherds' joy;

She that Venus did despite,

  And did blind her little boy.

This is she, the wise, the rich,

  That the world desires to see;

This is ipsa quae the which

  There is none but only she.

Who would not this face admire?

  Who would not this saint adore?

Who would not this sight desire,

  Though he thought to see no more?

O fair eyes! yet let me see

  One good look, and I am gone;

Look on me, for I am he,

  Thy poor silly Corydon.

Thou that art the shepherds' queen,

  Look upon thy silly swain;

By thy comfort have been seen

  Dead men brought to life again.

Make him live that, dying long,

  Never durst for comfort seek:

Thou shalt hear so sweet a song

  Never shepherd sung the like.

Nicholas Breton