She tooke him streight full pitiously lamenting, And wrapt him in her smock:

She wrapt him softly, all the while repenting
That he the fly did mock.

She drest his wound, and it embaulmed well
With salve of soveraigne might:

And then she bath'd him in a dainty well,

The well of deare delight.

Who would not oft be stung as this,
To be so bath'd in Venus blis?

The wanton boy was shortly wel recured
Of that his malady:

But he, soone after, fresh again enured

His former cruelty.

And since that time he wounded hath my selfe With his sharpe dart of love:

And now forgets the cruell carelesse elfe

His mothers heast to prove.

So now I languish, till he please

My pining anguish to appease.

EPITHALAMION.

YE learned sisters, which have oftentimes
Beene to the ayding, others to adorne,
Whom ye thought worthy of your gracefull rymes,
That even the greatest did not greatly scorne
To heare theyr names sung in your simple layes,
But ioyed in theyr praise;

And when ye list your own mishaps to mourne,
Which death, or love, or fortunes wreck did rayse,
Your string could soone to sadder tenor turne,
And teach the woods and waters to lament
Your dolefull dreriment:

Now lay those sorrowfull complaints aside;
And, having all your heads with girlands crownd,
Helpe me mine owne loves prayses to resound;
Ne let the same of any be envide:

So Orpheus did for his owne bride!

So I unto my selfe alone will sing;

For my fayre love, of lillyes and of roses,
Bound truelove wize, with a blew silke riband.
And let them make great store of bridale poses,
And let them eke bring store of other flowers,
To deck the bridale bowers.

And let the ground whereas her foot shall tread,
For feare the stones her tender foot should wrong,
Be strewd with fragrant flowers all along,
And diapred lyke the discolored mead.
Which done, doe at her chamber dore awayt,
For she will waken strayt;

The whiles do ye this song unto her sing,

The woods shall to you answer, and your eccho ring.

YE nymphes of Mulla, which with carefull heed
The silver scaly trouts do tend full well,
And greedy pikes which use therein to feed;
(Those trouts and pikes all others doe excell)
And ye likewise, which keepe the rushy lake,
Where none doo fishes take;

Bynd up the locks the which hang scatterd light,
And in his waters, which your mirror make,

Behold your faces as the christall bright,

That when you come whereas my love doth lie,
No blemish she may spie.

And eke, ye lightfoot mayds, which keepe the dore,
That on the hoary mountayne use to towre;
And the wylde wolves, which seeke them to devoure,
With your steele darts doe chace from coming neer;
Be also present heere,

To help to decke her, and to help to sing, [ring.
That all the woods may answer, and your ecchoe

EARLY before the worlds light-giving lampe,
His golden beame upon the hils doth spred,
Having disperst the nights unchearfull dampe,
Doe ye awake; and with fresh lustyhed,
Go to the bowre of my beloved love,
My truest turtle dove;

Bid her awake; for Hymen is awake,
And long since ready forth his maske to move,
With his bright tead that flames with many a flake,
And many a bachelor to waite on him,
In theyr fresh garments trim.

Bid her awake therefore, and soone her dight,
For loe! the wished day is come at last,
That shall, for all the paynes and sorrowes past,
Pay to her usury of long delight:
And, whylest she doth her dight,
Doe ye to her of ioy and solace sing,

[ring. That all the woods may answer, and your eacho

BRING with you all the nymphes that you can heare
Both of the rivers and the forrests greene,
And of the sea that neighbours to her neare;
All with gay girlands goodly wel bescenc.
And let them also with them bring in hand,
Another gay girland,

Ah! my deere love, why doe ye sleepe thus long,
When meeter were that ye should now awake,
T" awayt the comming of your joyous make,
And hearken to the birds love-learned song,
The deawy leaves among!

My love is now awake out of her dreame,
And her fayre eyes, like stars that dimmed were
With darksome cloud, now shew theyr goodly beams
More bright then Hesperus his head doth rere.
Come now, ye damzels, daughters of delight,
Helpe quickly her to dight:

But first come, ye fayre Houres, which were begot,
In loves sweet paradice, of Day and Night;
Which doe the seasons of the year allot,
And all, that ever in this world is fayre,
Doe make and still repayre;

And ye three handmayds of the Cyprian queene,
The which doe still adorn her beauties pride,
Helpe to adorne my beautifullest bride:
And, as ye her array, still throw betweene
Some graces to be seene;

And, as ye use to Venus, to her sing,

[ring.

The whiles the woods shal answer, and your eccho

Now is my love all ready forth to come:
Let all the virgins therefore well awayt;
And
ye
fresh boyes, that tend upon her groome,
Prepare your selves; for he is comming strayt.
Set all your things in seemely good aray,
Fit for so ioyfull day:

The joyfulst day that ever Sunne did see.
Fair Sun! shew forth thy favourable ray,
And let thy lifu!l heat not fervent be,
For feare of burning her sunshyny face,
Her beauty to disgrace.

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

Or sing the thing that mote thy minde delight,
Doe not thy servants simple boone refuse;
But let this day, let this one day, be mine;
Let all the rest be thine.

Then I thy soverayne prayses loud wil sing,
That all the woods shal answer, and theyr ecchoring.

HARKE! how the minstrils gin to shrill aloud
Their merry musick that resounds from far,
The pipe, the tabor, and the trembling croud,
That well agree withouten breach or iar.
But, most of all, the damzels doe delite,
When they their tymbrels smyte,

And thereunto doe daunce and carrol sweet,
That all the sences they doe ravish quite;

The whyles the boyes run up and downe the street,
Crying aloud with strong confused noyce,
As if it were one voyce.

Hymen, io Hymen, Hymen, they do shout;
That even to the Heavens theyr shouting shrill
Doth reach, and all the firmament doth fill;
To which the people standing all about,
As in approvance, doe thereto applaud,
And loud advaunce her laud;
And evermore they Hymen, Hymen, sing, [ring.
That all the woods them answer, and theyr eccho

LOE! where she comes along with portly pace,
Lyke Phoebe, from her chamber of the east,
Arysing forth to run her mighty race,
Clad all in white, that seems a virgin best.
So well it her beseems, that ye would weene
Some angell she had beene.

Her long loose yellow locks lyke golden wyre,
Sprinckled with perle, and perling flowres atweene,
Doe lyke a golden mantle her attyre;
And, being crowned with a girland greene,
Seem lyke some mayden queene.
Her modest eyes, abashed to behold
So many gazers as on her do stare,

Upon the lowly ground affixed are;

Ne dare lift up her countenance too bold,
But blush to heare her prayses sung so loud,
So farre from being proud.

Nathlesse doe ye still loud her prayses sing,
That all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring.

TELL me, ye merchants daughters, did ye see
So fayre a creature in your towne before?
So sweet, so lovely, and so mild as she,
Adornd with beautyes grace and vertues store:
Her goodly eyes lyke saphyres shining bright,
Her forehead yvory white,

Her cheekes lyke apples which the Sun hath rudded,
Her lips lyke cherries charming men to byte,
Her brest like to a bowl of creame uncrudded,
Her paps lyke lyllies budded,

BUT if ye saw that which no eyes can see,
The inward beauty of her lively spright,
Garnisht with heavenly guifts of high degree,
Much more then would ye wonder at that sight,
And stand astonisht lyke to those which red
Medusaes a mazeful hed.

There dwel's sweet Love, and constant Chastity,
Unspotted Fayth, and comely Womanhood,
Regard of Honour, and mild Modesty ;
There Vertue raynes as queene in royal throne,
And giveth lawes alone,

The which the base affectious doe obay,
And yeeld theyr services unto her will;
Ne thought of things uncomely ever may
Thereto approch to tempt her mind to ill.
Had ye once seene these her celestial threasures,
And unrevealed pleasures,

Then would ye wonder, and her prayses sing,
That all the woods should answer, and your eccho
ring,

OPEN the temple gates unto my love,
Open them wide that she may enter in,
And all the postes adorne as doth behove,
And all the pillours deck with girlands trim,
For to receyve this saynt with honour dew,
That commeth in to you.

With trembling steps, and humble reverence,
She commeth in, before th' Almighties view:
Of her ye virgins learne obedience,
When so ye come into those holy places,
To humble your proud faces:

Bring her up to th' high altar, that she may
The sacred ceremonies there partake,
The which do endlesse matrimony make;
And let the roring organs loudly play
The praises of the Lord in lively notes;
The whiles, with hollow throates,
The choristers the ioyous antheme sing,
That all the woods may answer, and their eccho ring.

BEHOLD, whiles she before the altar stands,
Hearing the holy priest that to her speakes,
And blesseth her w th his two happy hands,
How the red roses flush up in her cheekes,
And the pure snow, with goodly vermill stayne,
Like crimsin dyde in grayne:

That even the angels, which continually
About the sacred altar doe remaine,
Forget their service and about her fly,

Ofte peeping in her face, that seems more fayre,
The more they on it stare.

But her sad eyes, still fastened on the ground,
Are governed with goodly modesty,

That suffers not one look to glaunce awry,
Which may let in a little thought unsownd.
Why blush ye, love, to give to me your hand,
The pledge of all our band!

Sing, ye sweet angels, alleluya sing,

That all the woods may answer, and your eccho

ring.

Now all is done: bring home the bride againe;
Bring home the triumph of our victory;
Bring home with you the glory of her gaine,
With ioyance bring her and with iollity.
Never had man more ioyfull day than 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,
Poure not by cups, but by the belly full,
Poure out to all that wull,

And sprinkle all the posts and wals with wine,
That they may sweat and drunken be withall.
Crowne ye god Bacchus with a coronall,

And Hymen also crowne with wreaths of vine;
And let the Graces daunce unto the rest,
For they can doo it best:

The whiles the maydens doe theyr carroll sing,
To which the woods shall answer, and theyr eccho
ring.

RING ye the bels, ye yong men of the towne,
And leave your wonted labors for this day:
This day is holy; doe ye write it downe,
That ye for ever it remember may.

This day the Sunne is in his chiefest hight,
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 ordained was,
To choose the longest day in all the yeare,
And shortest night, when longest fitter weare:
Yet never day so long, but late would passe.
Ring ye the bels, to make it weare away,
And bonefiers make all day;

And daunce about them, and about them sing,
That all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring.

AH! when will this long weary day have end,
And lende me leave to come unto my love?
How slowly do the houres theyr numbers spend ?
How slowly does sad Time his feathers move?
Hast thee, O fayrest planet, to thy home,
Within the westerne fome:

Thy tyred steedes long since have need of rest.
Long though it be, at last I see it gloome,
And the bright evening-star with golden creast
Appeare out of the east.

Fayre childe of Beauty! glorious lampe of Love!
That all the host of Heaven in rankes doost lead,
And guidest lovers through the nights sad dread,
How chearefully thou lookest from above,
And seemst to laugh atweene thy twinkling light,
As ioying in the sight

Of these glad many, which for ioy do sing,
That all the woods them answer, and their ecchoring.

Now ceasse, ye damsels, your delights forepast;
Enough it is that all the day was youres:
Now day is doen, and night is nighing fast,
Now bring the bryde into the brydall bowres.
The night is come, now soon her disaray,
And in her bed her lay;

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

Like unto Maia, when as Iove her took
In Tempe, lying on the flowry gras,

Twixt sleepe and wake, after she weary was,
With bathing in the Acidal an brooke.
Now it is night, ye damsels may be gone,
And leave my love alone,

And leave likewise your former lay to sing:
The woods no more shall answer, nor your ecchoring.

Now welcome, Night! thou night so long expected,
That long daies labour doest at last defray,
And all my cares, which cruell Love collected,
Hast sumd in one, and cancelled for aye:
Spread thy broad wing over my love and me,
That no man may us see;

And in thy sable mantle us enwrap,
From feare of perrill and foule horror free.
Let no false treason seeke us to entrap,
Nor any dread disquiet once annoy
The safety of our ioy;

But let the night be calme, and quietsome,
Without tempestuous storms or sad afray:
Lyke as when love with fayre Alcmena lay,
When he begot the great Tirynthian groome:
Or lyke as when he with thy selfe did lie,
And begot Majesty.

And let the mayds and yongmen cease to sing;
Ne let the woods them answer, nor theyr eccho ring.

LET no lamenting cryes, nor dolefull teares,
Be heard all night within, nor yet without :
Ne let false whispers, breeding hidden feares,
Breake gentle sleepe with misconceived dout.
Let no deluding dreames, nor dreadful sights,
Make sudden sad affrights;

Ne let house-fyres, nor lightnings helples harmes,
Ne let the ponke, nor other evill sprights,
Ne let mischievous witches with their charmes,
Ne let hob-goblins, names whose sence we see not,
Fray us with things that be not;

Let not the shriech-owle, nor the storke, be heard;
Nor the night raven, that still deadly yels;
Nor damned ghosts, cald up with mighty spels;
Nor griesly vultures make us once affeard:
Ne let th' unpleasant quyre of frogs still croking
Make us to wish theyr choking.

Let none of these theyr drery accents sing;
Ne let the woods them answer, nor theyr eccho ring.

And ye, sweet Muses! which have often proved
The piercing points of his avengefull darts;
And ye, fair nimphs! which oftentimes have loved
The cruel worker of your kindly smarts,
Prepare yourselves, and open wide your harts
For to receive the triumph of your glorie,
That made you merie oft when ye were sorrie.

And ye, faire blossoms of youths wanton breed!
Which in the conquests of your beautie bost,
Wherewith your lovers feeble eyes you feed,
But sterve their harts that needeth nourture most,
Prepare yourselves to march amongst his host,
And all the way this sacred hymne do sing,
Made in the honor of your soveraigne king.

GREAT GOD OF MIGHT, that reignest in the mynd,
And all the bodie to thy hest doest frame,
Victor of gods, subduer of mankynd,
That doest the lions and fell tigers tame,
Making their cruell rage thy scornfull game,
And in their roring taking great delight;
Who can expresse the glorie of thy might?

Or who alive can perfectly declare
The wondrous cradle of thine infancie,
When thy great mother Venus first thee bare,
Begot of Plenty and of Penurie,
Though elder then thine owne nativitie,
And yet a chyld, renewing still thy yeares,
And yet the eldest of the heavenly peares?

For ere this worlds still moving mightie masse
Out of great Chaos ugly prison crept,
In which his goodly face long hidden was
From Heavens view, and in deep darknesse kept,
Love, that had now long time securely slept
In Venus lap, unarmed then and naked,
Gan reare his head, by Clotho being waked:

And taking to him wings of his own heat,
Kindled at first from Heavens life-giving fyre,
He gan to move out of his idle seat;
Weakly at first, but after with desyre
Lifted aloft, he gan to mount up byre,
And, like fresh eagle, made his hardy flight
Thro all that great wide wast, yet wanting light.
Yet wanting light to guide his wandring way,
His own faire mother, for all creatures sake,
Did lend him light from her owne goodly ray;
Then through the world his way he gan to take,
The world, that was not till he did it make,
Whose sundrie parts he from themselves did sever,
The which before had lyen confused ever.

The earth, the ayre, the water, and the fyre,
Then gan to raunge themselves in huge array,
And with contrary forces to conspyre

Each against other by all meanes they may,
Threatning their owne confusion and decay:
Ayre hated earth, and water hated fyre,
Till Love relented their rebellious yre.

He then them tooke, and, tempering goodly well
Their contrary dislikes with loved meanes,
Did place them all in order, and compell
To keepe themselves within their sundrie raines,
Together linkt with adamantine chaines;
Yet so, as that in every living wight

They mix themselves, and shew their kindly might.

So ever since they firmely have remained,
And duly well observed his beheast; [tained
Through which now all these things that are con-
Within this goodly cope, both most and least,
Their being have, and daily are increast
Through secret sparks of his infused fyre,
Which in the barraine cold he doth inspyre.

Thereby they all do live, and moved are
To multiply the likenesse of their kynd,
Whilest they seeke onely, without further care,
To quench the flame which they in burning fynd;
But man that breathes a more immortall mynd,
Not for lusts sake, but for eternitie,
Seckes to enlarge his lasting progenie;

For, having yet in his deducted spright
Some sparks remaining of that heavenly fyre,
He is enlumind with that goodly light,
Unto like goodly semblant to aspyre;
Therefore in choice of love he doth desyre
That seemes on Earth most heavenly to embrace,
That same is Beautie, borne of heavenly race.

For sure of all that in this mortall frame
Contained is, nought more divine doth seeme,
Or that resembleth more th' immortall flame
Of heavenly light, than beauties glorious beam.
What wonder then, if with such rage extreme
Frail men, whose eyes seek heavenly things to see,
At sight thereof so much enravisht bee?

Which well perceiving, that imperious boy
Doth therewith tip his sharp empoisued darts,
Which glancing thro the eyes with countenance coy
Rest not till they have pierst the trembling harts,
And kindled flame in all their inner parts,
Which suckes the blood, and drinketh up the lyfe,
Of carefull wretches with consuming griefe.

Thenceforth they playne, and make full piteous mone
Unto the author of their balefull bane: [grone,
The daies they waste, the nights they grieve and
Their lives they loath, and Heavens light disdaine;
No light but that, whose lampe doth yet remaine
Fresh burning in the image of their eye,
They deigne to see, and seeing it still dye.

The whylst thou tyrant Love doest laugh and scorne
At their complaints, making their paine thy play,
Whylest they lye languishing like thrals forlorne,
The whyles thou doest triumph in their decay;
And otherwhyles, their dying to delay,
Thou doest emmarble the proud hart of her
Whose love before their life they doe prefer.