My Mother

In whom I spent my old days and nights,
Who rocked me in my cradle;
And fed my pretty mouth with a spoon,
Did weep while I should weep.
How much will I pay
For the pain you’ve taken for me?

Who worked that jumper to keep me warm;
Treated me with diffidence and respect,
Her healthy arms always be my stay,
And always admired my prudent face that filled with laughter.
How much will I pay
For the pains you’ve taken for me?

Who tired me with apology for being tiresome,
And asked twenty questions and never waited for an answer.
My timidity struck her at the first sight;
When she taught me to expect something extraordinary.
How much will I pay
For the pains you’ve taken for me?

I find such a pleasure
In obeying her commands,
That I take care to observe;
Shall soon come to bless me.
How much will I pay
For the pains you’ve taken for me?

I vow, I thought so;
Never, as among queens and princesses
In her age; to be explicit,
I’ve kept very little company
In pretty smooth dialogues with her.
How much will I pay
For the pains you’ve taken for me?