A little black thing among the snow;
Crying, weep, weep, in notes of woe!
Where are thy father & mother? say?
They are both gone up to the church to pray.

Because I was happy upon the heath,
And smil'd among the winters snow;
They clothed me in the clothes of death;

And because I am happy, & dance & sing.
They think they have done me no injury;
And are gone to praise God & his Priest & King
Who make up a heaven of our misery.