Now al is done; bring home the bride againe,

Bring home the triumph of our victory, Bring home with you the glory of her gaine,

With joyance bring her and with jollity. 245
Never had man more joyfull day then this,
Whom heaven would heape with blis.
Make feast therefore now all this live long
day;

This day for ever to me holy is;

Poure out the wine without restraint or stay, 250

Poure not by cups, but by the belly full, Poure out to all that wull,

And sprinkle all the postes and wals with wine,

That they may sweat, and drunken be withall.

Crowne ye God Bacchus with a coronall. And Hymen also crowne with wreathes of vine; 256 And let the Graces daunce unto the rest, For they can doo it best:

The whiles the maydens doe theyr carroll sing,

The which the woods shal answer, and theyr eccho ring.

260

Now ceasse, ye damsels, your delights forepast;

Enough is it that all the day was youres: Now day is doen, and night is nighing fast:

Now bring the bryde into the brydall boures.

The night is come, now soone her disaray, And in her bed her lay;

301

Lay her in lillies and in violets,
And silken courteins over her display,
And odourd sheetes, and Arras coverlets.
Behold how goodly my faire love does ly,
In proud humility!

306

Like unto Maia, when as Jove her tooke
In Tempe, lying on the flowry gras,
Twixt sleepe and wake, after she weary

was

With bathing in the Acidalian brooke. Now it is night, ye damsels may be gon, And leave my love alone,

310

And leave likewise your former lay to sing: The woods no more shal answere, nor your echo ring.