Come, come, my sweet deary
Has slept rather long,
But now that he's waking
I'll sing him a song.
But softly awhile—
I must not be forgetful,
That suddenly rousing
Makes Harry quite fretful.
I must not with haste
Toss my baby about,
If I make too much noise
I shall grieve him, I doubt.
Then be-boo, my darling,
My bosom shall hide thee;
I'll pat thee, and kiss thee,
No fear shall betide thee.
Ah! how sweetly he smiles,
Now I've gained all my ends;
For my baby and I
Can soon make-up good friends.