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.

Who is the same, which at my window peepes ?

Or whose is that faire face that shines so bright?
Is it not Cinthia, she that never sleepes,

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But walkes about high heaven al the night?

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O! fayrest goddesse, do thou not envy

My Love with me to spy:

For thou likewise didst love, though now unthought,

Encline thy will t' effect our wishfull vow,

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And the chast womb informe with timely seed,
That may our comfort breed:

Till which we cease our hopefull hap to sing;

Ne let the woods us answer, nor our eccho ring.

And thou, great Iuno! which with awful might
The Lawes of Wedlock still dost patronize;

390

And the religion of the faith first plight

With sacred rites hast taught to solemnize;

And eke for comfort often called art

Of women in their smart;

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Eternally bind thou this lovely band,
And all thy blessings unto us impart.
And thou, glad Genius! in whose gentle hand
The bridale bowre and geniall bed remaine,
Without blemish or staine ;

And the sweet pleasures of theyr loves delight
With secret ayde doost succour and supply,
Till they bring forth the fruitfull progeny;
Send us the timely fruit of this same night.
And thou, fayre Hebe! and thou, Hymen free!
Grant that it may so be.
Till which we cease your further prayse to sing;
Ne any woods shall answer, nor your eccho ring.

And ye high heavens, the temple of the gods,
In which a thousand torches flaming bright
Doe burne, that to us wretched earthly clods
In dreadful darknesse lend desired light;
And all ye powers which in the same remayne,
More than we men can fayne;

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Poure out your blessing on us plentiously,

And happy influence upon us raine,

415

That we may raise a large posterity,

Which from the earth, which they may long possesse

With lasting happinesse,

Up to your haughty pallaces may mount;

And, for the guerdon of theyr glorious merit,

May heavenly tabernacles there inherit,
Of blessed Saints for to increase the count.
So let us rest, sweet Love, in hope of this,

420

And cease till then our tymely ioyes to sing:

The woods no more us answer, nor our eccho ring!

Song! made in lieu of many ornaments,

With which my Love should duly have been dect,
Which cutting off through hasty accidents,

Ye would not stay your den time to expect,
But promist both to recompens;

Be unto her a goodly ornament,

And for short time an endlesse moniment!

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POEMS.

I.

IN youth, before I waxed old,
The blynd boy, Venus baby,
For want of cunning made me bold,
In bitter hyve to grope for honny:
But, when he saw me stung and cry,
He tooke his wings and away did fly.

II.

As Diane hunted on a day,

She chaunst to come where Cupid lay,

His quiver by his head:

One of his shafts she stole

away,

And one of hers did close convay

Into the others stead:

With that Love wounded my Loves hart,

But Diane beasts with Cupids dart.

III.

I SAW, in secret to my Dame

How little Cupid humbly came,

And said to her; "All hayle, my mother!"

But, when he saw me laugh, for shame

His face with bashfull blood did flame,
Not knowing Venus from the other.
"Then, never blush, Cupid, quoth I,
For many have err'd in this beauty."

IV.

UPON a day, as Love lay sweetly slumbring
All in his mothers lap;

A gentle Bee, with his loud trumpet murm'ring,
About him flew by hap.

Whereof when he was wakened with the noyse,
And saw the beast so small;

"Whats this (quoth he) that gives so great a voyce, That wakens men withall ?"

And threatens all with corage stout.

"Twixt earnest and 'twixt game :

5

In angry wize he flies about,

10

To whom his mother closely smiling sayd,

"See! thou thy selfe likewise art lyttle made, If thou regard the same.

Nathelesse, the cruell boy, not so content,
Would needs the fly pursue;

And in his hand, with heedlesse hardiment,
Him caught for to subdue.