CRADLE HER (NOT HYMN).
Lords in waiting.
As you're born in a palace,
It's clear you must not
Be permitted, young baby,
To sleep in a cot:
So they've stirred up their wits,
With invention's pap-ladle,
And determined to give you
A Nautilus cradle;
Most loyally certain,
Whate'er it may do,
It will ne'er make a naughty lass,
Baby, of you!