Only page of title Very Easy
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When, wheeling from the west,
This hut thou sought'st and one thou brought'st
Unto a mother's breast.
_I_ was the wretched child
Was fetched that dismal morn --
'Twere better die than be (as I)
To life of misery born!
And hadst thou borne me on
Still farther up the town,
A king I'd be of high degree,
And wear a golden crown!
For yonder lives the prince
Was brought that selfsame day:
How happy he, while -- look at me!
I toil my life away!
And see my little boy --
To what estate he's born!
Why, when I die no hoard leave I
But poverty and scorn.
Thy well-belovéd played,
In yonder hall beneath a pall
A little one was laid;
Thy well-belovéd's face
Was rosy with delight,
But 'neath that pall in yonder hall
The little face is white;
Whilst by a merry voice
Thy soul is filled with cheer,
Another weeps for one that sleeps
All mute and cold anear;
One father hath his hope,
And one is childless now;
_He_ wears a crown and rules a town --
Only a cobbler _thou_!
Wouldst thou exchange thy lot
At price of such a woe?
I'll nest no more above thy door,
But, as thou bidst me, go.
