SING of brooks, of blossomes, birds, and bowers:

Of April, May, of June, and Julyflowers.

I sing of may-poles, hock-carts, wassails, wakes,

Of bride-grooms, brides, and of their bridall-cakes.
I write of youth, of love, and have accesse
By these, to sing of cleanly-wantonnesse.
I sing of dewes, of raines, and piece by piece
Of balme, of oyle, of spice, and amber-greece.
I sing of times trans-shifting; and I write
How roses first came red, and lillies white.
I write of groves, of twilights, and I sing
The court of Mab, and of the fairie-king.
I write of hell; I sing, and ever shall,
Of heaven, and hope to have it after all.

WHI

TO HIS MUSE.

HITHER, mad maiden, wilt thou roame?
Farre safer 'twere to stay at home;
Where thou mayst sit, and piping please
The poore and private cottages.

B

SING of brooks, of blossomes, birds, and bowers:

Of April, May, of June, and Julyflowers.

I sing of may-poles, hock-carts, wassails, wakes,

Of bride-grooms, brides, and of their bridall-cakes.
I write of youth, of love, and have accesse
By these, to sing of cleanly-wantonnesse.
I sing of dewes, of raines, and piece by piece
Of balme, of oyle, of spice, and amber-greece.
I sing of times trans-shifting; and I write
How roses first came red, and lillies white.
I write of groves, of twilights, and I sing
The court of Mab, and of the fairie-king.
I write of hell; I sing, and ever shall,
Of heaven, and hope to have it after all.

TO HIS MUSE.

WHITHER, mad maiden, wilt thou roame?

Farre safer 'twere to stay at home;

Where thou mayst sit, and piping please
The poore and private cottages.

B

UPON JULIA'S RECOVERY.

DROOP, droop no more, or hang the head,

Ye roses almost withered;

Now strength, and newer purple get,

Each here declining violet.

O primroses! let this day be
A resurrection unto ye;

And to all flowers ally'd in blood,
Or sworn to that sweet sister-hood:
For health on Julia's cheek hath shed
Clarret, and creame commingled.
And those her lips doe now appeare
As beames of corrall, but more cleare.

L

TO SILVIA TO WED.

ET us (though late) at last (my Silvia) wed;
And loving lie in one devoted bed.

Thy watch may stand, my minutes fly poste haste;
No sound calls back the yeere that once is past.
Then, sweetest Silvia, let's no longer stay;
True love, we know, precipitates delay.

Away with doubts, all scruples hence remove;
No man at one time, can be wise, and love.

THE PARLIAMENT OF ROSES TO JULIA.

I

DREAMT the roses one time went

To meet and sit in parliament :
The place for these, and for the rest
Of flowers, was thy spotlesse breast :
Over the which a state was drawne
Of Tiffanie, or cob-web lawne;
Then in that parly, all those powers
Voted the rose, the queen of flowers.
But so, as that her self should be
The maide of honour unto thee.