The tripping fairy tricks shall play
The evening of the wedding day.

Claia. But for the bride-bed what were fit?

That hath not been talk'd of yet.

Cloris. Of leaves of roses white and red

Shall be the covering of her bed;

The curtains, valance, tester, all
Shall be the flower imperial;
And for the fringe, it all along
With asure harebells shall be hung ;
Of lillies shall the pillows be,

With down stuft of the butterflee.

Mert. Thus far we handsomely have gone,

Now for our prothalamion

Or marriage song, of all the rest

A thing that much must grace our feast.
Let us practice then to sing it,

Ere we before th'assembly bring it
We in dialogues must do it,
Then, my dainty girls, set to it!

Claia. This day must Tita married be
Come, nymphs, this nuptial let us see!
Mert. But is it certain that ye say :
Will she wed the noble fay ?

Cloris. Sprinkle the dainty flowers with dews,

Such as the Gods at banquets use :

Let herbs and weeds turn all to roses,

And make proud the posts with posies.
Shoot your sweets into the air,
Charge the morning to be fair!

:}

Claia. For our Tita is this day
Mert. To be married to a fay.

Claia. By whom then shall our bride be led To the temple to be wed?

Mert. Only by yourself and I;

Who that room should else supply?

f

Cloris. Come, bright girls, come all together,1
And bring all your offering hither;

Ye most brave and buxom bevy,
All your goodly graces levy;

Come in majesty and state,
Our bridal here to celebrate.

Mert.
Claia.

}

For our Tita is this day
Married to a noble fay.

Claia. Whose lot will't be the way to strew
On which to church our bride must go?
Mert. That (I think) as fitt'st of all,
To lively Lelipa will fall.

Cloris. Summon all the sweets that are,
To this nuptial to repair,

Till with their throngs themselves they smother,
Strongly stifling one another,

And at last they all consume,

And vanish in one rich perfume.

Mert.
Claia.

}

For our Tita is this day
Married to a noble fay.

Mert. By whom must Tita married be?
'Tis fit to that we all should see.

Claia. The priest he purposely doth come,
Th' arch-Flamen of Elizium.

Cloris. With tapers let the temples shine,
Sing to Hymen hymns divine!

Load the altars, till there rise
Clouds from the burnt sacrifice;
With your censors sling aloof
Their smells, till they ascend the roof.
Mert. For our Tita is this day
Claia. J Married to a noble fay.

1 Altogether in the original, a common way of printing the phrase in old works.

Mert. But coming back when she is wed,
Who breaks the cake above her head?1
Claia. That shall Mertilla, for she's tallest,
And our Tita is the smallest.

Cloris. Violins, strike up aloud,
Ply the gittern, scour the crowd!
Let the nimble hand belabour

The whistling pipe and drumbling tabor :
To the full the bagpipe rack,

Till the swelling leather crack.

Mert. For our Tita is this day

Claia. Married to a noble fay.

Claia. But when to dine she takes her seat,

What shall be our Tita's meat?

Mert. The gods this feast as to begin,

Have sent of their ambrosia in.

Cloris. Then serve we up the straw's rich berry,

The respas, and Elizian cherry ;

The virgin honey from the flowers
In Hibla, wrought in Flora's bowers:
Full bowls of nectar, and no girl
Carouse but in dissolved pearl.

Mert. For our Tita is this day
Claia. Married to a noble fay.

Claia. But when night comes and she must go
To bed, dear nymphs, what must we do?
Mert. In the posset must be brought,

2

And points be from the bridegroom caught.

Cloris. In masques, in dances, and delight, And rear-banquets, pass the night;

'Then about the room we ramble,

Scatter nuts, and for them scramble,

1 This curious custom is alluded to in Brand's Popular Antiquities.

2 The points or tags that were used to hold the dress.

Over stools and tables tumble,
Never think of noise nor rumble.
Mert. For our Tita is this day
Claia. Married to a noble fay.

[From Lane's "Triton's Trumpet," a MS. in the British Museum, Bib. Reg. 17 B. xv.]

ROM Faerie Lande, I com, quoth Danus now,

FROM

Ha! that, quoth June, mee never chauncd to knowe,

Ne could or nould thigh poet Spencer tell, (So farr as mote my witt this ridle spell)

Though none that breatheth livinge aier doth knowe,
Wheare is that happie land of Faerie,

Which I so oft doe vaunt yet no wheare showe,
But vouch antequities which no bodie maie knowe.

No marveile that, quoth Danus mirrelie,
For it is movable of Mercurie,

Which Faeries with a trice doe snatch up hence,
Fro sight and heering of the common sense;