hou want'st the wit to wail her woe,
And I myself am all alone;
Why dost thou weep? why dost thou wail,
And know'st not yet what thou dost ail?

Come, little wretch! Ah! silly heart,
Mine only joy, what can I more?
If there be any wrong thy smart,
That may the destinies implore,
'Twas I, I say, against my will--
I wail the time, but be thou still.

And dost thou smile? O thy sweet face!
Would God Himself He might thee see!
No doubt thou wouldst soon purchase grace,
I know right well, for thee and me,
But come to mother, babe, and play,
For father false is fled away.

Sweet boy, if it by fortune chance
Thy father home again to send,
If Death do strike me with his lance
Yet may'st thou me to him commend:
If any ask thy mother's name,
Tell how by love she purchased blame.

Then will his gentle heart soon yield:
I know him of a noble mind:
Although a lion in the field,
A lamb in town[1] thou shalt him find:
Ask blessing, babe, be not afraid!
His sugar'd words hath me betray'd.

Then may'st thou joy and be right glad,
Although in woe I seem to moan;
Thy father is no rascal lad:
A noble youth of blood and bone,
His glancing looks, if he once smile,
Right honest women may beguile.

Come, little boy, and rock a-sleep!
Sing lullaby, and be thou still!
I, that can do naught else but weep,
Will sit by thee and wail my fill:
God bless my babe, and lullaby,
From this thy father's quality.

[Transcribers' note 1: 'lown' in the original]

George Wither

Prelude
(From _The Shepherd's Hunting_)

Seest thou not, in clearest days,
Oft thick fogs cloud Heaven's rays?
And that vapours which do breathe
From the Earth's gross womb beneath,
Seem unto us with black steams
To pollute the Sun's bright beams,
And yet vanish into air,
Leaving it unblemished fair?
So, my Willy, shall it be
With Detraction's breath on thee:
It shall never rise so high
As to stain thy poesy.
As that sun doth oft exhale
Vapours from each rotten vale,
Poesy so sometime drains
Gross conceits from muddy brains;
Mists of envy, fogs of spite,
Twixt men's judgments and her light;
But so much her power may do,
That she can dissolve them too.
If thy verse do bravely tower,
As she makes wing she gets power;
Yet the higher she doth soar,
She's affronted still the more,
Till she to the highest hath past;
Then she rests with Fame at last.
Let nought, therefore, thee affright;