Teares of bloud fell from his heart,
When he left his prettie boy,
Fathers sorrow, fathers joy.
Weep not, my Wanton, smile upon my knee,
When thou art old theres griefe enough for thee.
The wanton smilde, father wept,
Mother cried, babie lept;
Now he crow'd more he cride,
Nature could not sorrow hide;
He must goe, he must kisse