Lullay, myn lykyng,
my dere sone, myn swetyng,
Lullay, my dere herte,
myn owyn dere derlyng.
I saw a fayr mayden
Sytten and synge
Sche lullyd a lytyl child,
A swete lording.
Lullay, myn lykyng...
That eche Lord is that
That made alle thinge,
Of alle lordis he is Lord,
Of alle kynges Kyng.
Lullay, myn lykyng...
Ther was mekyl melody
At that chyldes berthe,
Alle tho wern in heuene blys,
They made mekyl mirth.
Lullay, myn lykyng...
"Aungele bryght," thei song that nyght,
And seydyn to that child,
"Blessid be thou, and so be sche
That is bothe mek and myld."
Lullay, myn lykyng...
Prey we now to that child,
And to his moder dere,
Grawnt hm his blyssyng
That now makyn chere.