Thys endris nyõth

Thys endris nyõth
I saw a sy3th,
    A stare as bry3t as day;
And ever among
A mayden song
    Lullay, by by, lullay.

This lovely lady sat and song, and to hyr chyld sayd,
My sone, my broder, my fader der, why lyest thou thus in haynd
    My swete byrd,
    Thus it ys betyde,
        Thow thou be kynd veray;
    But nevertheles
    I wyl not ses
        To syng, by by, lyllay.

The chyld than spak in histalkyng, and to hys moder sayd,
I bekydde am kyng in crybbe thar I be layd.
    For aungeiles bry3t
    Done to my ly3t
        Thou knowest it ys no nay;
    And of that sy3t
    Thou mayst be ly3t
        To syng, by by, lullay.

Now, swet son, syn thou art kyng, why art thou layd in stall?
Why ne thou ordende thi beddyng in sum gret kynges hall?
    Me thynkyth it is ry3t,
    That kyng or knyght
        Shuld ly in good aray;
    And than among
    It wer no wrong
        To syng, by by, lullay.

Mary moder, I am thi chyld, thow I be layd in stall,
Lordes and dukes shal worsshyp me and so shall kynges all.
    3e shall well se
    That kynges thre
        Shall come the xij. day,
    For this behest
    3efe me thi brest,
        And syng, by by, lullay.

Now tell me, swet son, I the pray, thou art me leve and dere,
How shuld I kepe the to thy pay and mak the glad of chere.
    For all thi wyll
    I wold fullfyll
        Thou wetyste full well in fay,
    And for all thys,
    I wyll the kys,
        And syng, by by, lullay.

My der moder, whan tym it be, thou take me up on loft,
And set me upon thi kne, and handyll me full soft.
    And in thi arme
    Thou hyl me warme,
        And kepe ny3t and day;
    If I wepe,
    And may not slepe,
        Thou syng, by by, lullay.

Now, swet son, syn it is so, that all thyng is at thi wyll,
I pray the graunte me a bone, yfit be both ry3t and skyll.
    That chyld or man
    That wyl or kan
        Be mery upon my day,
    To blyss hem bryng,
    And I shal syng,
        Lullay, by by, lullay.