The litle babe vp in his armes he hent;
Who with sweet pleasance and bold blandishment
Gan smyle on them, that rather ought to weepe,
As carelesse of his woe, or innocent
Of that was doen, that ruth emperced deepe
In that knights heart, and wordes with bitter teares did steepe.
Ah lucklesse babe, borne vnder cruell starre, ii
And in dead parents balefull ashes bred,
Full litle weenest thou, what sorrowes are
Left thee for portion of thy liuelihed,