Where I do hold my little swaÿ.
An' childern dear to my heart's core,
A-sleep wi' little heavèn breast,
That pank'd by day in plaÿ, do rest
Wi' moonlight on the door.
But still 'tis good, woonce now an' then
To rove where moonlight on the land
Do show in vaïn, vor heedless men,
The road, the vield, the work in hand.
When curtains be a-hung avore