Wake now, my love, awake! for it is time: And carroll of loves praise! The merry larke hir mattins sings aloft, 80 Ab! 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? For they of joy and pleasance to you sing, That all the woods them answer, and theyr eccho ring. Harke how the minstrels 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 jar. 132 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, Iö Hymen, Hymen,' they do shout, That even to the heavens theyr shouting shrill 141 Then would ye wonder, and her prayses sing, That al the woods should answer, and your echo ring. Open the temple gates unto my love, 209 With trembling steps and humble reverence, 220 Behold, whiles she before the altar stands, Hearing the holy priest that to her speakes, And blesseth her with his two happy hands, How the red roses flush up in her cheekes, And the pure snow with goodly vermill stayne, 230 Like crimsin dyde in grayne: The more they on it stare. But her sad eyes, still fastened on the ground, 240 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. Never had man more joyfull day then this, 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, 251 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; 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 shal answer, and theyr eccho ring. 260 Ring ye the bels, ye yong men of the towne, From whence declining daily by degrees, weare: 270 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, 300 And in her bed her lay; Lay her in lillies and in violets, And silken courteins over her display, Like unto Maia, when as Jove her tooke, 310 And leave likewise your former lay to sing: The woods no more shal answere, nor your echo ring. 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, 320 And in thy sable mantle us enwrap, But let the night be calme and quietsome, 331 But let stil Silence trew night watches keepe, That sacred Peace may in assurance rayne, And tymely Sleep, when it is tyme to sleepe, May poure his limbs forth on your pleasant playne, The whiles an hundred little winged loves, Like divers fethered doves, Shall fly and flutter round about our bed, And in the secret darke, that none reproves, Their prety stealthes shall worke, and snares shal spread 361 To filch away sweet snatches of delight, Ye sonnes of Venus, play your sports at will: For greedy Pleasure, carelesse of your |