ENGLAND.

WEET 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.

Thou blesséd soul, what canst thou fear ?
What thing to thee can. mischief do?
Thy God is now thy Father dear,

His holy spouse thy Mother too.

Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep ;

Be still, my babe, sweet baby, sleep.

While thus thy lullaby I sing,

For thee great blessings ripening be ;
Thy eldest brother is a king,

And hath a kingdom bought for thee.
Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep ;
Be still, my babe, sweet baby, sleep.

- (G. Wither, 1588-1667.)
TI 9