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To make a seizure on the light,

Or to seal up the sun.



No marigolds yet closed are,

No shadows great appear; Nor doth the early shepherd's star

Shine like a spangle here.

Stay but till my Julia close

Řer life-begetting eye, And let the whole world then dispose

Itself to live or die.

LIVE, live with me, and thou shalt see
The pleasures I'll prepare for thee;
What sweets the country can afford
Shall bless thy bed and bless thy board.
The soft, sweet moss shall be thy bed
With crawling woodbine over-spread;
By which the silver-sbedding streams

Shall gently melt thee into dreams.
| Thy clothing, next, shall be a gown
Made of the fleece's purest down.
The tongues of kids shall be thy meat,
Their milk thy drink ; and thou shalt





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The paste of filberts for thy bread,
With cream of cowslips buttered;
Thy feasting-tables shall be hills
With daisies spread and daffodils,
Where thou shalt sit, and red-breast by,
For meat, shall give thee melody.
I'll give thee chains and carcanets
Of primroses and violets.
A bag and bottle thou shalt have,
That richly wrought, and this as brave;
So that as either shall express
The wearer's no mean shepberdess.
At shearing-times, and yearly wakes,
When Themilis his pastime makes,
There thou shalt be; and be the wit,
Nay, more, the feast, and grace of it.
On holidays, when virgins meet
To dance the heyes with nimble feet, 30
Thou shalt come forth, and then apo

The queen of roses for that year;
And having danced, 'bove all the best,
Carry the garland from the rest.
In wicker baskets maids shall bring
To thee, my dearest shepherling,
The blushing apple, bashful pear,
And shame-fac'd plum, all simp'ring there.
Walk in the groves, and thou shalt find
The name of Phyllis in the rind
Of every straight and smooth-skin tree;
Where kissing that, I'll twice kiss thee.
To thee a sheep-hook I will send,
Be-prank'd with ribands to this end;
This, this alluring hook might be
Less for to catch a sheep than me.
Thou shalt have possets, wassails fine,
Not made of ale, but spiced wine,

To make thy maids and self free mirth, | All sitting near the glitt'ring hearth.

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Thou shalt have ribands, roses, rings,
Gloves, garters, stockings, shoes, and strings
Of winning colours, that shall move
Others to lust, but me to love.
These, nay, and more, thine own shall be
If thou wilt love, and live with me.

WHENAs in silks my Julia goes,
Then, then, methinks, how sweetly flows
The liquefaction of her clothes.

Next, when I cast mine eyes and see That brave vibration each way free; O how that glittering taketh me!



When I behold a forest spread
With silken trees upon thy head,
And when I see that other dress
Of flowers set in comeliness;
When I behold another grace
In the ascent of curious lace,
Which like a pinnacle doth show
The top, and the top-gallant too.
Then, when I see thy tresses bound
Into an oval, square, or round,
And knit in knots far more than I
Can tell by tongue, or true-love tie;
Next, when those lawny films I see
Play with a wild civility,
And all those airy silks to flow,
Alluring me, and tempting so:
I must confess mine eye and heart
Dotes less on Nature than on Art.

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HER eyes the glow-worm lend thee, The shooting stars attend thee;

And the elves also,

Whose little eyes glow Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.

In the hour of my distress,
When temptations me oppress,
And when I my sins confess,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When I lie within my bed,
Sick in heart and sick in head,
And with doubts discomforted,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

No Will-o'-th’-Wisp mislight thee,
Nor snake or slow-worm bite thee;

But on, on thy way

Not making a stay, Since ghost there's none to affright thee.

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Let not the dark thee cumber :
What though the moon does slumber?

The stars of the night

Will lend thee their light Like tapers clear without number.

When the artless doctor sees
No one hope, but of his fees,
And his skill runs on the lees,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

Then, Julia, let me woo thee, Thus, thus to come unto me;

And when I shall meet

Thy silv'ry feet
My soul I'll pour into thee.

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When the passing bell doth toll.
And the furies in a shoal
Come to fright a parting soul,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!


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Like as my parlour, so my hall

And kitchen's small;
A little buttery, and therein

A little bin
Which keeps my little loaf of bread

Unclipt, unflead.
Some brittle sticks of thorn or briar

Make me a fire,
Close by whose living coal I sit,

And glow like it.
Lord, I confess, too, when I dine,

The pulse is Thine,
And all those other bits, that be

There placed by Thee; 30 The worts, the purslain, and the mess

Of water-cress,
Which of Thy kindness Thou hast sent;

And my content
Makes those, and my beloved beet,

To be more sweet. 'Tis Thou that crown'st my glittering hearth

With guiltless mirth;
And giv'st me wassail bowls to drink,

Spiced to the brink.
Lord, 'tis Thy plenty-dropping hand,

That soils my land;
And giv'st me for my bushel sown,

Twice ten for one.
Thou mak'st my teeming hen to lay

Her egg each day;
Besides my healthful ewes to bear

Me twins each year,
The wbile the conduits of my kine

Run cream for wine.
All these, and better Thou dost send

Me, to this end,
That I should render, for my part,

A thankful heart;
Which, fired with incense, I resign,

As wholly Thine;
But the acceptance, that must be,

My Christ, by Thee.


When the flames and hellish cries
Fright mine ears, and fright mine eyes,
And all terrors me surprise,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the judgment is reveal'd,
And that open'd which was seal'd,
When to Thee I have appeal’d,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!






LORD, Thon bast given me a cell

Wherein to dwell;
A little house, whose humble roof

Is weather-proof;
Cnder the spars of which I lie

Both soft and dry;
Where Thou my chamber for to ward

Hast set a guard
Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep

Me, while I sleep.
Loris my porch, as is my fate,

Both void of state;
And yet the threshold of my door

Is worn by th' poor,
Who thither come, and freely get

Good words or meat;


O thou, the wonder of all days !
O paragon, and pearl of praise !
O virgin-martyr, ever blest

Above the rest
Of all the maiden train ! We come,
And bring fresh strewings to thy tomb.

Thus, thus, and thus we compass round
Thy harmless and unhaunted ground;
And as we sing thy dirge, we will

The daffodil
And other flowers lay upon
The altar of our love, thy stone.
Thou wonder of all maids, liest here,
Of daughters all the dearest dear;
The eye of virgins; nay, the queen

Of this smooth green,
And all sweet meads; from whence we get
The primrose and the violet.
Too soon, too dear did Jephthah buy,
By thy sad loss, our liberty:
His was the bond and cov'nant, yet

Thou paid'st the debt:
Lamented maid ! he won the day,
But for the conquest thou didst pay.
Thy father brought with him along
The olive branch and victor's song:
He slew the Ammonites, we know,

But to thy woe;
And in the purchase of our peace,
The cure was worse than the disease. 30
For which obedient zeal of thine,
We offer here, before thy shrine,
Our sighs for storax, tears for wine;

And to make fine And fresh thy hearse-cloth, we will, here, Four times bestrew thee ev'ry year. Receive, for this thy praise, our tears: Receive this offering of our hairs: Receive these crystal vials fill'd

With tears distillid 40 From teeming eyes; to these we bring, Each maid, her silver filleting,

No, no; our maiden pleasures be Wrapp'd in the winding-sheet with thee: 'Tis we are dead, though not i' th' grave:

Or, if we have One seed of life left, 'tis to keep A Lent for thee, to fast and weep. Sleep in thy peace, thy bed of spice, And make this place all paradise: May sweets grow here: and smokefrom bence

Fat frankincense: Let balm and cassia send their scent From out thy maiden-monument. May no wolf bowl, or screech-owl stir A wing about thy sepulchre ! No boisterous winds, or storms, come hither

To starve or wither go
Thy soft sweet earth! but, like a spring,
Love keep it ever flourishing.
May all shy maids, at wonted hours,
Come forth to strew thy tomb with flow'rs'
May virgins, when they come to mourn,

Male-incense burn
Upon thine altar! then return,
And leave thee sleeping in thy urn.


To gild thy tomb; besides, these cauls, These laces, ribbons, and these falls, 2 These veils, wherewith we use to bide

The bashful bride, When we conduct her to her groom: And all we lay upon thy tomb. No more, no more, since thou art dead, Shall we e'er bring coy brides to bed; No more, at yearly festivals

We cowslip balls Or chains of columbines shall make For this or that occasion's sake.

1 Cauls, nets for the hair. · Falls, trimmings hanging loosely.

TO KEEP A TRUE LENT Is this a fast, to keep

The larder lean ?

And clean From fat of veals and sheep? Is it to quit the dish Of flesh, yet still

To fill The platter high with fish ? Is it to fast an hour,

Or ragg’d to go,

Or show A downcast look and sour ? No; 'tis a fast to dole

Thy sheaf of wheat,

And meat, Unto the hungry soul. It is to fast from strife,

From old debate

And hate;
To circumcise thy life.
To show a heart grief-rent;

To starve thy sin,

Not bin;
And that's to keep thy Lent.








ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S | Oh! run; prevent them with thy humble ode, NATIVITY

And lay it lowly at his blessed feet;

Have thou the honour first thy Lord to (1629)

greet, And join thy voice unto the Angel Quire,

From out his secret altar touched with halThis is the month, and this the happy morn,

lowed fire. Wherein the Son of Heaven's eternal

Of wedded maid and virgin mother born,
Our great redemption from above did

It was the winter wild,
For so the holy sages once did sing,
That he our deadly forfeit should release,

While the Heaven-born child

All meanly wrapt in the rude manger And with his Father work us a perpetual

lies; peace.

Nature, in awe to him,

Had doffed her gaudy trim, That glorious form, that light unsufferable,

With her great Master so to sympathize:

It was no season then for her
And that far-beaming blaze of majesty,
Wherewith he wont at Heaven's high coun-

To wanton with the Sun, her lusty paracil-table

To sit the midst of Trinal Unity,
He laid aside, and, here with us to be,
Forsook the courts of everlasting day,

Only with speeches fair
And chose with us a darksome house of

She woos the gentle air mortal clay.

To hide her guilty front with innocent

And on her naked shame,


Pollute with sinful blame, Say, heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred

The saintly veil of maiden white to throw; vein Afford a present to the Infant God ?

Confounded, that her Maker's eyes

Should look so near upon her foul deforHast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn

mities. strain, To welcome him to this his new abode,

III Now while the heaven, by the Sun's

But he, her fears to cease, team untrod,

Sent down the meek-eyed Peace. Hath took no print of the approaching light,

She, crowned with olive green, came And all the spangled host keep watch in

softly sliding squadrons bright?

Down through the turning sphere,

His ready harbinger,
With turtle wing the amorous clouds

dividing; See how from far upon the eastern road | And, waving wide her myrtle wand, The star-led wizards haste with odours She strikes a universal peace tbrough sea sweet!

and land.



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