Page:Breton Wither Browne.djvu/46

 Hark how the roofs with laughters sound,

Anon they'll think the house goes round:

For they the cellar's depths have found,

And there they will be merry.

The wenches with their wassel-bowls

About the streets are singing;

The boys are come to catch the owls,

The wild mare in is bringing.

Our kitchen boy hath broke his box,

And to the dealing of the ox

Our honest neighbours come by flocks,

And here they will be merry.

Now kings and queens poor sheep-cotes have,

And mate with everybody;

The honest now may play the knave,

And wise men play at noddy.

Some youths will now a mumming go,

Some others play at rowland-hoe.

And twenty other gameboys moe;

Because they will be merry.

Then wherefore in these merry days

Should we, I pray, be duller?

No, let us sing some roundelays

To make our mirth the fuller.

And whilst we thus inspirèd sing,

Let all the streets with echoes ring;

Woods, and hills, and everything

Bear witness we are merry.

baby, sleep! what ails my dear,

What ails my darling thus to cry?

Be still, my child, and lend thine ear

To hear me sing thy lullaby.

My pretty lamb, forbear to weep;

Be still, my dear; sweet baby, sleep.