De puero balbutiente by Thomas Bastard Lyrics

Me thinkes tis pretie sport to heare a childe
Rocking a worde in mouth yet undefiled
the tender racket rudely playes the sound
Which weakly bandied cannot backe rebound
And the soft ayre the softer roofe doth kisse
With a sweet dying and a pretie miss
Which heares no answere yet from the white ranke
Of teeth, not risen from their corall banke
The alphabet is searcht for letters soft
To trye a worde before it can be wrought
And when it slideth forth, it goes as nice
As when a man does walke upon the yce