So sound he slept that nought mought1 him
awake.
Then rudely he him thrust, and pusht with
paine,
Whereat he gan to stretch; but he againe
Shooke him so hard that forced him to
speake.
As one then in a dreame, whose dryer
braine
Is tost with troubled sights and fancies
weake,
He mumbled soft, but would not all his
silence breake.
The Sprite then gan more boldly him to wake,
And threatned unto him the dreaded name
Of Hecate whereat he gan to quake,
And, lifting up his lompish head, with
blame
Halfe angrie asked him, for what he came.
"Hether (quoth he) "me Archimago sent,
He that the stubborne Sprites can wisely
He bids thee to him send for his intent 386 A fit false dreame, that can delude the sleepers sent."
That my frayle eies these lines with teares do steepe,
To thinke how she through guyleful handeling,
Though true as touch, though daughter of a king,
Though faire as ever living wight was fayre, Though nor in word nor deede ill meriting, Is from her knight divorced in despayre, And her dew loves deryv'd to that vile witches shayre. 18
That shall, for all the pains and sorrows past,
Pay to her usury of long delight:
And, whilst she doth her dight,
Do ye to her of joy and solace sing,
That all the woods may answer, and your
echo ring.
Bring with you all the nymphs that you can hear,
Both of the rivers and the forests green,
And of the sea that neighbours to her near,
All with gay garlands goodly well bescen; 40
And let them also with them bring in hand
Another gay garland,
For my fair love, of lilies and of roses,
Bound truelove-wise with a blue silk riband;
And let them make great store of bridal posies,
And let them eke bring store of other flowers,
To deck the bridal bowers;
And let the ground whereas her foot shall tread,
For fear the stones her tender foot should
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The merry lark her matins sings aloft ;
The thrush replies; the mavis descant plays;
The ouzel shrills; the ruddock warbles soft;
So goodly all agree, with sweet concent,5
To this day's merriment.
Ah! my dear love, why do ye sleep thus long
When meeter were that ye should now awake,
T' await the coming of your joyous make,
And hearken to the birds' love-learnèd song,
The dewy leaves among !
For they of joy and pleasance to you sing, 90 That all the woods them answer, and their echo ring.
My love is now awake out of her dreams,
And her fair eyes, like stars that dimmed were
With darksome cloud, now show their goodly
beams
More bright than Hesperus his head doth rear.
Come now, ye damsels, daughters of delight,
Help quickly her to dight:
But first come ye, fair Hours, which were begot,
In Jove's sweet paradise, of Day and Night;
Which do the seasons of the year allot,
And all that ever in this world is fair
Do make and still repair:
And ye three handmaids of the Cyprian queen,
The which do still adorn her beauty's pride,
Help to adorn my beautifulest bride;
And as ye her array, still throw between
Some graces to be seen,
And, as ye use to Venus, to her sing,
The whiles the woods shall answer, and your echo ring.
Lo! where she comes along with portly pace,
Like Phoebe,1 from her chamber of the East,
Arising forth to run her mighty race,
Clad all in white, that 'seems a virgin best.
So well it her beseems that
Some angel she had been.
ye would ween
Her long loose yellow locks like golden wire,
Sprinkled with pearl, and pearling flowers
Do like a golden mantle her attire;
And, being crowned with a garland green,
Seem like some maiden queen.
Her modest eyes, abashed to behold
So many gazers as on her do stare,
Upon the lowly ground affixèd are;
Ne dare lift up her countenance too bold,
But blush to hear her praises sung so loud,
So far from being proud.
Nathless do ye still loud her praises sing, That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring.
But if ye saw that which no eyes can see, 185
The inward beauty of her lively spright,3
Garnished with heavenly gifts of high degree,
Much more then would ye wonder at that
sight,
And stand astonished like to those which read
Medusa's mazeful head.
There dwells sweet love, and constant chastity,
Unspotted faith, and comely womanhood,
That even th' angels, which continually
About the sacred altar do remain,
Forget their service and about her fly,
Oft peeping in her face, that seems more fair,
The more they on it stare.
But her sad eyes, still fast'nèd on the ground,
Are governed with goodly modesty,
That suffers not one look to glance awry
Which may let in a little thought unsound.
Why blush ye, love, to give to me your hand,
Sing, ye sweet angels, Alleluia sing,
The pledge of all our band?
That all the woods may answer, and your echo
Ring ye the bells, ye young men of the town,
And leave your wonted labours for this day:
This day is holy; do ye write it down,
That ye forever it remember may;
This day the sun is in his chiefest height,
With Barnaby the bright,
From whence declining daily by degrees,
He somewhat loseth of his heat and light,
When once the Crab behind his back he sees.
But for this time it ill ordainèd was,
To choose the longest day in all the year,
And shortest night, when longest fitter were:
Yet never day so long, but late would pass.
Ring ye the bells, to make it wear away,
And bonfires make all day;
And dance about them, and about them sing, That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring.
Ah! when will this long weary day have end,
And lend me leave to come unto my love?
How slowly do the hours their numbers spend !
How slowly does sad Time his feathers move!
Haste thee, O fairest planet, to thy home, 282
Within the western foam:
Thy tired steeds long since have need of rest.
Long though it be, at last I see it gloom,
And the bright evening-star with golden crest
Appear out of the East.
Fair child of beauty! glorious lamp of love!
That all the hosts of heaven in ranks dost lead,
And guidest lovers through the nightës dread,
How cheerfully thou lookest from above, 291
And seem'st to laugh atween thy twinkling light,
Of these glad many, which for joy do sing, That all the woods them answer, and their echo ring!
Now cease, ye damsels, your delights forepast;
Enough it is that all the day was yours:
Now day is done, and night is nighing fast,
Now bring the bride into the bridal bowers.
The night is come, now soon her disarray, 300
And in her bed her lay;
Lay her in lilies and in violets,
And silken curtains over her display,
And odoured sheets, and Arras coverlets.
Behold how goodly my fair love does lie,
In proud humility!
Like unto Maia, whenas Jove her took
In Tempe, lying on the flowery grass,
"Twixt sleep and wake, after she weary was
With bathing in the Acidalian brook.
Now it is night, ye damsels may be gone,
And leave my love alone,
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