Unless she do him by the forelock take!
Bid her therefore herself soon ready make
To wait on Love amongst his lovely crew,
Where every one that misseth then her make
Shall be by him amerced with penance due!

Make haste, therefore, sweet Love! whilst it is prime :
For none can call again the passed Time.

The doubt which ye misdeem, fair Love! is vain,
That fondly fear to lose your liberty:

When losing one, two liberties ye gain,

And make him bond that bondage erst did fly.
Sweet be the bands the which true love doth tie,
Without constraint or dread of any ill :

The gentle bird feels no captivity

Within her cage, but sings and feeds her fill.

There pride dare not approach, nor discord spill
The league 'twixt them that loyal love hath bound;
But simple truth and mutual good will
Seeks with sweet peace to salve each other's wound :
There Faith doth fearless dwell in brazen tower,
And spotless Pleasure builds her sacred bower.

EPITHALAMION.

Ye learned Sisters! which have oftentimes

Been to me aiding, others to adorn

Whom ye thought worthy of your graceful rhymes,

That even the greatest did not greatly scorn

To hear their names sung in your simple lays,

But joyed in their praise;

And when ye list your own mishaps to mourn

Which death, or love, or fortune's wreck did raise,
Your string could soon to sadder tenor turn,

And teach the woods and waters to lament

Your doleful dreariment:

Now lay those sorrowful complaints aside;

And, having all your heads with garlands crown'd,
Help me mine own Love's praises to resound!

Ne let the same of any be envied!
So Orpheus did for his own Bride:
So I unto myself alone will sing ;

The woods shall to me answer, and my echo ring.

Early, before the world's light-giving lamp
His golden beam upon the hills doth spread,
Having dispersed the night's uncheerful damp,
Do ye awake, and with fresh lustihed
Go to the bower of my beloved Love,
My truest turtle-dove!

Bid her awake! for Hymen is awake,

And long since ready forth his masque to move, With his bright tead that flames with many a flake,

And many a bachelor to wait on him

In their fresh garments trim.

Bid her awake therefore, and soon her dight!

For lo the wished day is come at last

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 beseen!
And let them also with them bring in hand
Another gay garlànd,

For my fair Love, of lilies and of roses

Bound true-love-wise with a blue silk ribbànd!
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 wrong,
Be strew'd with fragrant flowers all along
And diaper'd like the discolour'd mead!
Which done, do at her chamber door await,
For she will waken straight,

The whiles do ye this song unto her sing!
The woods shall to you answer, and your echo ring.

Ye Nymphs of Mulla, which with careful heed
The silver scaly trouts do tend full well,
And greedy pikes which use therein to feed
(Those trouts and pikes all others do excel) ;
And ye likewise which keep the rushy lake
Where none do fishes take!

Bind up

the locks the which hang scatter'd light, And in his waters, which your mirror make, Behold your faces as the crystal bright,

That when you come whereas my Love doth lie
No blemish she may spy.

And eke, ye light-foot Maids which keep the deer
That on the hoary mountain use to tower,

And the wild wolves which seek them to devour With your steel darts do chase from coming near! Be also present here,

To help to deck her, and to help to sing,

That all the woods may answer and your echo ring.

Wake now, my Love! awake! for it is time:
The rosy Morn long since left Tithon's bed,
All ready to her silver coach to climb,
And Phoebus 'gins to show his glorious head.
Hark how the cheerful birds do chant their lays
And carol of Love's praise!

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 consent
To this day's merriment.

Ah, my dear Love! why do ye sleep thus long?
When meeter were that ye should now awake
To await the coming of your joyous Make,
And harken to the birds' love-learned song
The dewy leaves among :

For they of joy and pleasance to you sing,
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 beautifullest 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.

Now is my Love all ready forth to come :
Let all the virgins therefore well await!
And ye fresh boys that tend upon her Groom,
Prepare yourselves! for he is coming straight.
Set all your things in seemly good array
Fit for so joyfull day,

The joyfullest day that ever sun did see!
Fair Sun! show forth thy favourable ray;
And let thy lifeful heat not fervent be
For fear of burning her sun-shiny face,
Her beauty to disgrace."

O fairest Phoebus! father of the Muse,
If ever I did honour thee aright,

Or sing the thing that mote thy mind delight,
Do not thy servant's simple boon refuse :
But let this day, let this one day be mine!
Let all the rest be thine.

Then I thy sovereign praises loud will sing,
That all the woods shall answer, and their echo ring.

Hark how the minstrels gin to shrill aloud
Their merry music that resounds from far :
The pipe, the tabor, and the trembling croud,
That well agree withouten breach or jar!
But most of all the damsels do delight
When they their timbrels smite

And thereunto do dance and carol sweet,
That all the senses they do ravish quite;
The whiles the boys run up and down the street,
Crying aloud with strong confusèd noise,

As if it were one voice,

"Hymen, io Hymen! Hymen!" they do shout,— That even to the heavens their shouting shrill Doth reach, and all the firmament doth fill;

To which the people standing all about

As in approvance do thereto applaud,

And loud advance her laud;

And evermore they

66

Hymen! Hymen!" sing,

That all the woods them answer and their echo ring.

Lo where She comes along with portly pace,
Like Phoebe from her chamber of the East
Arising forth to run her mighɩy race,