Browse Carols: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z # Lullay, My Chyld, And Wepe No More Lullay, my chyld, and wepe no more, Slepe and be now styll; The kyng of blys thi fader ys, As it was hys wyll. This endrys ny3t I saw a sy3th, A mayde a cradyllkepe, And ever she song and seyd among, Lullay, my child, and slepe. I may not slep, but I may wepe, I am so wo begone; Slep I old, butt I am colde, And clothys have I none. Me thou3t I hard, the chyld answard, And to hys moder he sayd, My moder der, what do I her, In crybbe why am I layd. I was borne and layd beforne Bestys, both ox and asse. My moder myld, I am thi chyld, But he my fader was. Adams gylt this man had spylt, That syn grevyt me sore; Man, for the her shal I be Thyrty wynter and mor. Dole it is to se, her shall I be Hang upon the rode, With baleis to-bete, my woundes to-wete, And 3effe my fleshe to bote. Her shal I be hanged on a tre, And dye as it is skyll; That I have bou3t lesse wyll I nou3t, It is my faders wyll. A spere so scharp shall perse my herte, For dedys that I have done. Fader of grace, where thou hase Forgetyn thy lytyll sonne. Withoutyn pety her shall aby, And mak my flese al blo. Adam i-wys, this deth it ys For the and many mo. Browse Carols: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z #