Lullaby.
My sweet little baby,
what meanest thou to cry?
Lullaby.
My sweet little baby.
Be still, my blessed babe,
though cause thou hast to mourn,
Whose blood most innocent to shed the cruel king hath sworn.
And lo, behold, what slaughter he doth make,
Shedding the blood of infants all,
sweet Savior, for thy sake.
A King is born, they say,
which King this king would kill.
W woe, and woeful heavy day,
when wretches have their will.