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 !
Afwn,



With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb' st the skies !
How silently, and with how wan a face !
What, may it be that e'en in heavenly place
That busy archer his sharp arrows tries !

Sure, if that long-with-love-acquainted eyes
Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's case,
I read it in thy looks ; thy languish'd grace.
To me, that feel the like, thy state descries.
Then, e'en of fellowship, O Moon, tell me.
