It is a baby Jesus,

And he stoppeth one of three.

‘By thy chubby cheeks and innocent eye,

Now wherefore stopp’st thou me?

. . .

He holds him with his dimpled hand,

‘There was a crib,’ quoth he.

‘Hold off! unhand me smooth-cheeked loon!’

Eftsoons his hand dropt he.

. . .

‘I fear thee, baby Jesus!

I fear thy pudgy hand!

And thou art small, and smooth, and talcumed,

As if from Fairyland.

 

I fear thee and thy watery eye,

Thy perfect hand, and wee, wee toes.’—

 

Et cetera, et cetera