Three Carols

Tell us, thou clear and heavenly tongue,
Where is the Babe but lately sprung?
Lies he the lily-banks among?

Or say, if this new Birth of ours
Sleeps, laid within some ark of flowers,
Spangled with dew-light; thou canst clear
All doubts, and manifest the where.

Declare to us, bright star, if we shall seek
Him in the morning's blushing cheek,
Or search the beds of spices through,
To find him out?

        Star. No, this ye need not do;
But only come and see Him rest
A Princely Babe in's mother's breast.

He's seen, He's seen! why then around,
Let's kiss the sweet and holy ground;
And all rejoice, that we have found
A King before conception crown'd.

Come then, come then, and let us bring
Unto our pretty Twelfth-tide King,
Each one his several offering;

And when night comes, we'll give Him wassailing;
And that His treble honours may be seen,
We'll choose Him King, and make His mother Queen.

Lully, lulla, thou little tiny child,
By, by, lully, lullay.
 
O, sisters too, 
How may we do
For to preserve this day
This poor youngling
For whom we do sing,
By, by, lully lullay?
 
Herod the king, 
In his raging,
Charged he hath this day 
His men of might,
In his own sight, 
All young children to slay.

That woe is me, 
Poor child for thee!
And every morn and day, 
For thy parting,
Neither say nor sing 
By by, lully lullay!

In Numbers, and but these few,
I sing Thy Birth, Oh Jesu!
Thou prettie Babie, borne here,
With sup'rabundant scorn here:
Who for Thy Princely Port here,
Hadst for Thy place
Of Birth a base
Outstable for thy Court here.

Instead of neat Inclosures
Of interwoven Osiers;
Instead of fragrant Posies
Of Daffadils, and Roses;
Thy cradle, Kingly Stranger,
As Gospell tells
Was nothing els,
But, here, a homely manger.

But we with Silks, (not Crewels),
With sundry precious Jewells,
And Lilly-work will dresse Thee;
And as we dispossesse Thee
Of clouts, wee'l make a chamber,
Sweet Babe, for Thee,
Of Ivorie,
And plaister'd round with Amber.

The Jews they did disdaine Thee,
But we will entertaine Thee
With Glories to await here
Upon Thy Princely State here,
And more for love, then pittie.
From yeere to yeere,
Wee'l make Thee, here,
A Freeborn of our Citie.