To the tune of "Basciami vita mia." Sleep, baby mine, Desires nurse, Beauty, singeth; Thy cries, O baby, set mine head on aching: The babe cries, "Way, thy love doth keep me waking."

Lully, lully, my babe, Hope cradle bringeth Unto my children alway good rest taking: The babe cries, "Way, thy love doth keep me waking."

Since, baby mine, from me thy watching springeth, Sleep then a little, pap Content is making; The babe cries, "Nay, for that abide I waking."

I.

The scourge of life, and deaths extreme disgrace; The smoke of hell, the monster called Pain: Long shamed to be accursed in every place, By them who of his rude resort complain; Like crafty wretch, by time and travel taught, His ugly evil in others good to hide; Late harbours in her face, whom Nature wrought As treasure-house where her best gifts do bide; And so by privilege of sacred seat, A seat where beauty shines and virtue reigns, He hopes for some small praise, since she hath great, Within her beams wrapping his cruel stains. Ah, saucy Pain, let not thy terror last, More loving eyes she draws, more hate thou hast.

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