Whan Wat to Bedlem cum was,
He swet, he had gone faster than a pace;
He found Jesu in a simpell place,
Betwen an ox and an asse.
Ut hoy!
For in his pipe he made so much joy.
‘Jesu, I offer to thee here my pipe,
My skirt, my tar-box, and my scripe;
Home to my felowes now will I skipe,
And also look unto my shepe.’
Ut hoy!
For in his pipe he made so much joy.”[{34}]
[51]But to others again, especially the lullabies, the hardness of the Nativity, the shadow of the coming Passion, give a deep note of sorrow and pathos; there is the thought of the sword that shall pierce Mary's bosom:—
“This endris night I saw a sight,
A maid a cradell kepe,
And ever she song and seid among
‘Lullay, my child, and slepe.’
‘I may not slepe, but I may wepe,
I am so wo begone;
Slepe I wold, but I am colde
And clothës have I none.
* * * * *
‘Adam's gilt this man had spilt;
That sin greveth me sore.
Man, for thee here shall I be
Thirty winter and more.
* * * * *
‘Here shall I be hanged on a tree,
And die as it is skill.
That I have bought lesse will I nought;
It is my fader's will.’”[{35}]
The lullabies are quite the most delightful, as they are the most human, of the carols. Here is an exquisitely musical verse from one of 1530:—