BVt

see,

The inward beauty of her liuely spright, Garnisht with heauenly guifts of high degree, Much more then would ye wonder at that sight,

And stand astonisht lyke to those which red Medusaes mazeful hed.

190

ehold whiles she before the altar stands

220

Owalis

NBwag done; hope of buic victory,

; bring home the bride againe,

Bring home with you the glory of her gaine,
With ioyance bring her and with iollity.
Neuer had man more ioyfull day then this,
Whom heauen would heape with blis.
Make feast therefore now all this liue long
day,

This day for euer 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 vnto 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.

Ing ye

Randle

260

the bels, ye yong men of the towne,

This day is holy; doe ye write it downe,
That
ye for euer 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 chose the longest day in all the yeare,

270

Yet neuer 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.

H when will this long weary day haue end,

A when win this ue to vay vayo may loue?
How slowly do the houres theyr numbers spend?
How slowly does sad Time his feathers moue?
Hast thee O fayrest Planet to thy home
Within the Westerne fome :

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

Fayre childe of beauty, glorious lampe of loue
That all the host of heauen in rankes doost lead,
And guydest louers through the nightes dread,
How chearefully thou lookest from aboue, 291
And seemst to laugh atweene thy twinkling light
As ioying in the sight

Of these glad many which for ioy doe sing, That all the woods them answer and their echo ring.

But let the night be calme and quietsome,

Without tempestuous storms or sud afray': Lyke as when Ioue with fayre Alcmena lay, When he begot the great Tirynthian groome : Or lyke as when he with thy selfe did lie, 330 And begot Maiesty.

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

Et 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 housefyres, nor lightnings helpelesse harmes,

340

Nor the night Rauen that still deadly yels,
Nor damned ghosts cald vp with mighty spels,
Nor griesly vultures make vs once affeard:
Ne let th'unpleasant Quyre of Frogs still crok-
ing

Make vs to wish theyr choking.

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

Vt let stil Silence trew night watches keepe,

BThat 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 loues,
Like diuers fethered doues,

Shall fly and flutter round about your bed,
And in the secret darke, that none reproues,
Their prety stealthes shal worke, and snares
shal spread

To filch away sweet snatches of delight,
Conceald through couert night.

361

Ye sonnes of Venus, play your sports at will,
For greedy pleasure, carelesse of your toyes,
Thinks more vpon her paradise of ioyes,
Then what ye do, albe it good or ill.
All night therefore attend your merry play,
For it will soone be day:

Now none doth hinder you, that say or sing, Ne will the woods now answer, nor your Eccho ring. 371