Y

EPITHALAMION.

E learned Sisters, which have oftentimes
Beene to me 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 joyed 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;
The woods shall to me answer,

and my eccho ring.

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 joy and solace sing,

That all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring.

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 beseene.
And let them also with them bring in hand
Another gay girland,

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,

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.

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 helpe to decke her, and to help to sing,

That all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring.

Wake now, my Love, awake; for it is time;
The rosy Morne long since left Tithons bed,
All ready to her silver coche to clyme;
And Phabus gins to shew his glorious hed.

Hark! how the cheerefull birds do chaunt theyr laies,
And carroll of Loves praise.

The merry Larke hir mattins sings aloft;

The Thrush replyes; the Mavis descant playes;
The Ouzell shrills; the Ruddock warbles soft;
So goodly all agree, with sweet consent,

To this dayes meriment.

-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!

For they of joy and pleasance to you sing,
That all the woods them answer, and theyr eccho ring.

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 Joves sweet paradice, of Day and Night

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Which doe the seasons of the year allot,

And all, that ever in this world is fayre,
Do 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,

The whiles the woods shal answer,

and your

Now is my Love all ready forth to come:
Let all the Virgins therefore well awayt;

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eccho ring.

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 joyfull day:

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

O fayrest Phabus! Father of the Muse!
If ever I did honour thee aright,

Or sing the thing that mote thy mind 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 eccho ring.

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 jar.
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
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,

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That all the woods them answer, and theyr eccho ring.

Loe! where she comes along with portly pace,
Lyke Phabe, 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,