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Never had man more joyfull day then this, Fayre childe of beauty, glorious lampe of Whom heaven would heape with blis.
love, Make feast therefore now all this live long That all the host of heaven in rankes doost day;
lead, This day for ever to me holy is;
And guydest lovers through the nightes Poure out the wine without restraint or stay, dread, Poure not by cnps, but by the belly full, 251 How chearefully thou lookest from above, Poure out to all that wull,
And seemst to laugh atweene thy twinkling And sprinkle all the postes and wals with light, wine,
As joying in the sight That they may sweat, and drunken be with- Of these glad many, which for joy doe sing, all.
That all the woods them answer, and their Crowne
Now ceasse, ye damsels, your delights foreAnd let the Graces daunce unto the rest,
past; For they can doo it best:
Enough is it that all the day was youres: The wbiles the maydens doe theyr carroll Now day is doen, and night is nighing fast: sing,
Now bring the bryde into the brydall boures. To which the woods shal answer, and theyr The night is come, now soone her disaray, 300 eccho ring.
And in her bed her lay;
Lay her in lillies and in violets, Ring ye the bels, ye yong men of the towne, And silken courteins over her display, And leave your wonted labors for this day: And odourd sheetes, and Arras coverlets. This day is holy; doe ye write it downe, Behold how goodly my faire love does ly, That ye for ever it remember may.
In proud humility ! This day the sunne is in his chiefest hight, Like unto Maia, when as Jove her tooke, With Barnaby the bright,
In Tempe, lying on the flowry gras, From whence declining daily by degrees, Twixt sleepe and wake, after she weary was He somewhat loseth of his heat and light, With bathing in the Acidalian brooke. When once the Crab behind his back he sees.
Now it is night, ye
gon, But for this time it ill ordained was,
And leave my love alone, To chose the longest day in all the yeare,
And leave likewise your former lay to sing: And shortest night, when longest fitter
The woods no more shal answere, nor your
echo ring. Yet never day so long, but late would passe. Ring ye the bels, to make it weare away, Now welcome, night! thou night so long And bonefiers make all day,
expected, And daunce about them, and about them sing: That long daies labour doest at last defray, That all the woods may answer, and your And all my cares, which cruell Love coleccho ring
Hast sumd in one, and cancelled for aye : Ah! when will this long weary day have end, Spread thy broad wing over my love and ine, And lende me leave to come unto my love ? That no man may us see, How slowly do the houres theyr numbers And in thy sable mantle us enwrap, spend !
From feare of perrill and foule horror free. How slowly does sad Time his feathers move! Let no false treason seeke us to entrap, Hast thee, O fayrest planet, to thy bome Nor any dread disquiet once annoy Within the westerne fome:
The safety of our joy: Thy tyred steedes long since have need of But let the night be calme and quietsome, rest.
Without tempestnous storms or sad afray: Long though it be, at last I see it gloome, Lvke as when Jove with fayre Alcmena lay, And the bright evening star with golden When he begot the great Tirynthian groome: creast
Or lyke as when he with thy selfe did lie, Appeare out of the east.
And begot Majesty.
And let the mayds and yongmen cease to
All night therefore attend your merry play, sing:
For it will soone be day: Ne let the woods them answer, nor theyr Now none doth hinder you, that say or eccho ring.
Ne will the woods now answer, nor your Let no lamenting cryes, nor dolefull teares, eccho ring. Be heard all night within, nor yet without: Ne let false whispers, breeding hidden Who is the same which at my window
feares, Breake gentle sleepe with misconceived Or whose is that faire face that shines so dout.
bright? Let no deluding dreames, nor dreadful Is it not Cinthia, she that never sleepes, sights,
But walkes about high heaven al the night? Make sudden sad affrights;
O fayrest goddesse, do thou not envy Ne let house-fyres, nor lightnings helplesse My love with me to spy: harmes,
For thou likewise didst love, though now Ne let the Pouke, nor other evill sprights,
unthought, Ne let mischivous witches with theyr And for a fleece of woll, which privily charmes,
The Latmian shephard once unto thee Ne let hob goblins, names whose sense we brought,
380 see not,
His pleasures with thee wrought. Fray us with things that be not.
Therefore to us be favorable now; Let not the shriech oule, nor the storke be Aud sith of wemens labours thou hast heard,
charge, Nor the night raven that still deadly yels, And generation goodly dost enlarge, Nor damned ghosts cald up with mighty Encline thy will t effect our wishfull vow, spels,
And the chast wombe informe with timely Nor griesly vultures make us once affeard:
seed, Ne let th' unpleasant quyre of frogs still That may our comfort breed: croking
Till which we cease our hopefull hap to Make us to wish theyr choking.
sing, Let none of these theyr drery accents sing; Ne let the woods us answere, nor our eccho Ne let the woods them answer, nor theyr
ring eceho ring.
And thou, great Juno, which with awful But let stil Silence trew night watches might keepe,
The lawes of wedlock still dost patronize, That sacred Peace may in assurance rayne, And the religion of the faith first plight And tymely Sleep, when it is tyme to sleepe, With sacred rites hast taught to solennize, May poure his limbs forth on your pleasant And eeke for comfort often called art playne,
Of women in their smart,
And all thy blessings unto us impart.
hand Their prety stealthes shall worke, and The bridale bowre and geniall bed resnares shal spread
maine, To filch away sweet snatches of delight, Without blemish or staine, Conceald through covert night.
And the sweet pleasures of theyr loves Ye sonnes of Venus, play your sports at
With secret ayde doest succour and supply, For greedy Pleasure, carelesse of your Till they bring forth the fruitfull progeny, toyes,
Send us the timely fruit of this same night. Thinks more upon her paradise of joyes, And thou, fayre Hebe, and thou, Hymen Then what ye do, albe it good or ill.
Grant that it may so be.
sing, Ne any woods shal answer, ror your eccho
And ye high heavens, the temple of the
gods, In which a thousand torches flaming bright Doe burne, that to us wretched earthly
clods In dreadful darknesse lend desired light, And all ye powers which in the same re
mayne, More then we men can fayne, Poure out your blessing on us plentiously, And happy influence upon us raine, That we may raise a large posterity, Which from the earth, which they may
long possesse With lasting bappinesse, Up to your haughty pallaces may mount, Aud for the guerdon of theyr glorious
merit, May heavenly tabernacles there inherit, Of blessed saints for to increase the count. So let us rest, sweet love, in hope of this, And cease till then our tymely joyes to
sing: The woods no more us answer, nor our
eccho ring. Song, made in lien of many ornaments With which my love should duly have bene
dect, Which cutting off through hasty accidents, Ye would not stay your dew time to ex
pect, But promist both to recompens, Be unto her a goodly ornament, And for short time an endlesse moniment.
(Publ. 1596.) CALME was the day, and through the trem
bling ayre Sweete breathing Zephyrus did softly play, A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay Hot Titans beames, which then did glyster
fayre: When I, whom sullein care, Through discontent of my long fruitlesse
stay In princes court, and expectation vayne Of idle hopes, which still doe fly away, Like empty shaddowes, did aflict my
brayne, Walkt forth to ease my payne Along the shoare of silver streaming
Themmes; Whose rutty bancke, the which his river
hemmes, Was paynted all with variable flowers, And all the meades adornd with daintie
gemmes, Fit to decke maydens bowres, And crowne their paramours, Against the brydale day, which is not
long: Sweete l'hemmes, runne softly, till I end
my song There, in a meadow, by the rivers side, A flocke of nymphes I chaunced to espy, sa All lovely daughters of the flood thereby, With goodly greenish locks all loose untyde, As each had bene a bryde: And each one had a little wicker basket, Made of fine twigs entray led curionsly, In which they gathered flowers to fill their
Hasket; And with fine fingers cropt full feateously The tender stalkes on hye. Of every sort, which in that meadow grew, They gathered some; the violet pallid blew, The little dazie, that at evening closes, 3: The virgin lillie, and the primrose trew, With store of vermeil roses, To decke their bridegromes posies Against the brydale day, which was not
long: Sweete Themmes, runne softly, till I end
A SPOUSALL VERSE MADE BY
IN HONOUR OF THE DOUBLE MARIAGE
OF THE TWO HONORABLE & VERTUOUS LADIES, THE LADIE ELIZABETH AND THE LADIE KATHERINE SOMERSET, DAUGHTERS TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE EARLE OF WORCESTER AND
With that I saw two swannes of goodly Then forth they all out of their baskets hewe
drew Come softly swimming downe along the lee; Great store of flowers, the honour of the Two fairer birds I yet did never see:
field, The snow which doth the top of Pindus That to the sense did fragrant odours yeild, strew
All which upon those goodly birds they Did never whiter shew,
threw, Nor Jove himselfe, when he a swan would be And all the waves did strew, For love of Leda, whiter did appear:
That like old Peneus waters they did seeme, Yet Leda was, they say, as white as he, When downe along by pleasant Tempes Yet not so white as these, nor nothing neare:
shore, So purely white they were,
Scattred with flowres, through Thessaly That even the gentle streame, the which they streeme, them bare,
That they appeare, through lillies plenteous Seem'd foule to them, and bad his billowes
Like a brydes chamber flore. To wet their silken feathers, least they Two of those nymphes, meane while, two might
garlands bound Soyle their fayre plumes with water not so Of freshest flowres which in that mead fayre,
they found, And marre their beauties bright,
The which presenting all in trim array, That shone as heavens light,
Their snowie foreheads therewithall they Against tbeir brydale day, which was not crownd, long:
Whil'st one did sing this lay, Sweete Themmes, runne softly, till I end Prepar'd against that day, my song.
Against their brydale day, which was not
long: Eftsoones the nymphes, which now had Sweete Themmes, runne softly, till I end flowers their fill,
my song Rap all in haste to see that silver brood, As they came floating on the christal • Ye gentle birdes, the worlds faire ornaflood;
ment, Whom when they sawe, they stood amazed And heavens glorie, whom this happie still,
hower Their wondring eyes to fill.
Doth leade unto your lovers blissfull bower, Them seem'd they never saw a sight so Joy may you have and gentle hearts confayre,
tent Of fowles so lovely, that they sure did Of your loves couplement: deeme
And let faire Venus, that is Queene of Them heavenly borne, or to be that same Love, payre
With her heart-quelling sonne upon you Which throngh the skie draw Venus silver smile, teeme;
Whose smile, they say, hath vertue to For sure they did not seeme To be begot of any earthly seede,
All loves dislike, and friendships faultie Bat rather angels or of angels breede:
guile Yet were they bred of Somers-heat, they say, For ever to assoile. In sweetest season, when each flower and
Let endlesse peace your steadfast hearts weede
accord, The earth did fresh aray;
And blessed plentie wait upon your bord; So fresh they seem'd as day,
And let your bed with pleasures chast Even as their brydale day, which was uot abound, long:
That fruitfull issue may to you afford, Sweete Themmes, runne softly, till I end Which may your foes confound, my song
And make your joyes redound,
Upon your brydale day, which is not long: Yet therein now doth lodge a noble peer, Sweete Themmes, run softlie, till I end Great Englands glory and the worlds wide my song.'
Whose dreadfull name late through all So ended she; and all the rest around
Spaine did thunder, To her redoubled that her undersong,
And Hercules two pillors standing neere Which said, their bridale daye should not Did make to quake and feare. be long
Faire braucb of honor, flower of cheval. And gentle Eccho from the neighbour
That fillest England with thy triumphes Their accents did resound.
fame, So forth those joyous birdes did passe along, Joy have thou of thy noble victorie, Adowne the lee, that to them murmurde And endlesse happinesse of thine owne
low, As he would speake, but that he lackt a tong, That promiseth the same: Yeat did by signes his glad affection show, That through thy prowesse and victorious Making his streame run slow. And all the foule which in his flood did dwell Thy country may be freed from forraine Gan flock about these twaine, that did excell
harmes; The rest so far as Cynthia doth shend And great Elisaes glorious name may The lesser starres. So they, enranged well,
ring Did on those two attend,
Through al the world, fil'd with thy wide And their best service lend,
alarmes, Against their wedding day, which was not Which some brave Muse may sing long:
To ages following, Sweete Themmes, run softly, till I end upon the brydale day, which is not long: my song.
Sweete Themmes, runne softly, till I end
my song At length they all to mery London came, To mery London, my most kyndly nurse, From those high towers this noble lord That to me gave this lifes first native sourse; issuing, Though from another place I take my name,
Like radiant Hesper when his golden hayre An house of auncient fame.
In th' ocean billowes he hath bathed fayre, There when they came, whereas those Descended to the rivers open vewing, bricky towres,
With a great traine ensuing. The which on Themmes brode aged backe Above the rest were goodly to bee seene doe ryde,
Two gentle knights of lovely face and Where now the studious lawyers have their feature, bowers,
Beseeming well the bower of anie queene, 150 There whylome wont the Templer Knights With gifts of wit and ornaments of nature, to byde,
Fit for so goodly stature: Till they decayd through pride:
That like the twins of Jove they seem'd in Next whereunto there standes a stately sight, place,
Which decke the bauldricke of the heavens Where oft I gayned giftes and goodly grace bright. Of that great lord which therein wont to They two, forth pacing to the rivers side, dwell,
Received those two faire brides, their Whose want too well now feeles my loves delight, freendles case:
Which, at th' appointed tyde, Bit ah! here fits not well
Each one did make his bryde, Olde woes, but joyes to tell,
Against their brydale day, which is not Against the bridale daye, which is not long:
long: Sweete Themmes, runne softly, till I end Sweete 'Themmes, runne softly, till I end my song