Poor soul that thinks no creature harm.
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?
I wail the time, but be thou still.
And dost thou smile? O, thy sweet face!
For father false is fled away.
Tell how by love she purchased blame.
His sugar'd words hath me betray'd.
Right honest women may beguile.
From this thy father's quality.
"A Cradle Song, The Arbor of Amorous Devices, 1593-4" Poetry.net. STANDS4 LLC, 2019. Web. 20 Apr. 2019. <https://www.poetry.net/poem/28386/a-cradle-song,-the-arbor-of-amorous-devices,-1593-4>.