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Of clouts, wee '1 make a chamber, Sweet babe, for thee, Of ivorie,
And plaister'd round with amber.
The Jewes, they did disdaine thee; But we will entertaine thee With glories to await here Upon thy princely state here, And more for love then pittie ; From yeere to yeere Wee '11 make thee, here, A free-born of our citie. |
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THE STAR-SONG;
A CAROLL TO THE KING. SUNG AT WHITEHALL.
The flourish ofmusick; then followed the song,
1. Tell us, thou cleere and heavenly tongue, Where is the Babe but lately sprung ? Lies he the lillie-banks among ?
2. Or say, if this new Birth of ours Sleeps, laid within some ark of flowers, Spangled with deaw-light; thou canst cleere All doubts, and manifest the where. |
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