| lyric | Behold a silly tender babe,
In freezing winter night,
In homely manger trembling lies
Alas, a piteous sight!
The inns ar full; no man will yield
This little pilgrim bed.
But forced he is with silly beast
In crib to shroud his head.
This stable is a Prince’s court,
This crib his chair of State;
The beasts are parcel of his pomp,
The wooden dish his plate.
The person in that poor attire
His royal liveries wear;
The Prince himself is come from heav’n;
This pomp is prizèd there.
With joy approach, O Christian wight,
Do homage to thy King
And highly praise his humble pomp,
wich he from Heav’n doth bring. |