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O sisters too, how may we do,

For to preserve this day,

This pore youngling, for whom we do singe
By by lully lullay.

Herod the king, in his raging,

Chargid he hath this day;

His men of might, in his owne sight,

All yonge children to slay.

That wo is me pore childe for thee,
And ever morne and say

For thi parting, nether say nor sing
By by lully lullay.

LVIII.

LULLABY SONG.

[From a rare collection of songs printed in 1530, and reprinted by Mr. Douce.]

By by lullaby

Rockyd 1 my child,

In a dre late as I lay

Me thought I hard a maydyn say

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And spak thes wordys mylde
My lytil sone with thee I play,
And ever she song by lullay.
Thus rockyd she hyr child,
By by lullabi,

Rockid I my child by by.

Then merveld I ryght sore of this

A mayde to have a chyld' I wys,
By by lullay

Thus rockyd she her child

By by lullaby, rockyd I my child.

LIX.

LULLABY SONG.

[From "The Pleasant Comodie of Patient Grissill." 1603.]

GOLDEN slumbers kisse your eyes,

Smiles awake you when you rise:
Sleepe, pretty wantons, doe not cry,
And I will sing a lullabie.

Care is heavy, therefore sleepe you,

You are care, and care must keep you: Sleepe, pretty wantons, doe not cry, And I will sing a lullabie,

Rocke them, rocke them, lullabie.

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COME, ye young men, come along,
With your musick, dance, and song,
Bring your lasses in your hands,
For 'tis that which love commands;

Then to the May-pole come away,
For it is now a holyday.

It is the choice time of the year,
For the violets now appear;

Now the rose receives its birth,

And pretty primrose decks the earth.

Then to the May-pole come away,
For it is now a holyday.

Here each bachelor may choose
One that will not faith abuse,
Nor repay with coy disdain,
Love that should be loved again.

Then to the May-pole come away,
For it is now a holyday.

And when you well reckoned have, What kisses you your sweethearts gave, Take them all again and more,

It will never make them poor.

Then to the May-pole come away,
For it is now a holyday.

When you thus have spent the time,
Till the day be past its prime,

To your beds repair at night,

And dream there of your days delight. Then to the May-pole come away, For it is now a holyday.

LXI.

MAY-DAY SONG.

[From Mr. Todd's MSS. mentioned at p. 107 of this volume.]

JONE, to the May-pole away let us on,
Tyme is swift and will be gone;

See how the wenches hye to the greene,
Where they know they shall be seene:
Besse, Moll, Kate, Doll,

These wante no loves to attend them;

Hodge, Dick, Tom, Nick,

Brave dauncers, whoe can amend them ?

Jone, shall we have now a hay or a rounde,
Or some daunce that is new-founde:

Lately I was at a masque in the courte,

Where I saw of every sorte

Many a dance, made in France,

Many a braule, and many a measure,

Gay coates, sweet notes,

Brave wenches, O 'twas a treasure!

But now, me thinkes these courtlye toyes
Us deprive of better joyes :

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