Your string could soon to sadder tenor turn,
And teach the woods and waters to lament

Your doleful dreriment *:

Now lay those sorrowful complaints aside,

And, having all your heads with garlands crown'd,
Help me mine own love's praises to resound:
Ne let the same of any be envied!

So Orpheus did for his own bride :

So I unto myself alone will sing;

The woods shall to me answer, and my echo ring.

Early, before the world's light-giving lamp
His golden beam upon the hills doth spread,
Having dispersed the night's uncheerful damp,
Do ye awake; and with fresh lustihed

Go to the bower of my beloved love,

My truest turtle dove;

Bid her awake, for Hymen is awake;

And long since ready forth his mask to move,

With his bright tead† that flames with many a flake,

And many a bachelor to wait on him,

In their fresh garments trim.

Bid her awake, therefore, and soon her dight,

For, lo the wished day is come at last,

That shall, for all the pains and sorrows past,

Pay to her usury of long delight:

And whilst she doth her dight,

Do ye to her of joy and solace sing,

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

Bring with you all the nymphs that you can hear,
Both of the rivers and the forests green,

And of the sea that neighbours to her near;
All with gay garlands goodly well-beseen.
And let them also with them bring in hand
Another gay garland,

For my fair love, of lilies and of roses,

Bound, truelove-wise, with a blue silk ribànd:
And let them make great store of bridal posies,
And let them eke bring store of other flowers,
To deck the bridal bowers.

And let the ground whereas her foot shall tread,
For fear the stones her tender foot should wrong,
Be strewed with fragrant flowers all along,
And diaper'd like the discolored mead.

Which done, do at her chamber door await,
For she will waken straight;

The whilst do ye this song unto her sing,

The woods shall to you answer, and your echo ring.

Ye nymphs of Mulla *, which, with careful heed,
The silver scaly trouts do tend full well,

And greedy pikes which use therein to feed ;
(Those trouts and pikes all others do excel ;)
And ye likewise which keep the rushy lake,
Where none do fishes take,

Bind up your locks, the which hang scattered light,
And in his waters, which your mirror make,

Behold your faces as the crystal bright,

* The river Mulla, in the county of Cork, which flowed through the grounds of Kilcolman Castle, where Spenser resided.

That when you come wheras my love doth lie,
No blemish she may spy.

And eke, ye light-foot maids which keep the deer
That on the hoary mountain use to tower,

And the wild wolves which seek them to devour, With your steel darts do chase from coming neer, Be also present here,

To help to deck her, and to help to sing,

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

Wake now, my love, awake, for it is time;
The rosy Morn long since left Tithon's bed
All ready to her silver coach to climb;

And Phoebus 'gins to shew his glorious head.

Hark! how the cheerful birds do chaunt their lays, And carol of love's praise.

The merry lark her matins sings aloft ;

The thrush replies; the mavis descant plays;
The ouzel shrills: the ruddock warbles soft;
So goodly all agree, with sweet concent,
To this day's merriment.

Ah! my dear love, why do ye sleep thus long,
When meeter 't were that ye should now awake,
T' await the coming of your joyous make*,
And hearken to the birds' love-learned song,

The dewy leaves among !

For they of joy and pleasance to you sing,

That all the woods them answer, and their echo ring.

My love is now awake out of her dream,

And her fair eyes, like stars that dimmed were

* Mate, or partner.

With darksome cloud, now shew their goodly beams,
More bright than Hesperus his head doth rear.

Come now, ye damsels, daughters of delight,
Help quickly her to dight:

But first come ye, fair Hours, which were begot,
In Jove's sweet paradise, of Day and Night,
Which do the seasons of the year allot,

And all that ever in this world is fair

Do make, and still repair.

And ye, three hand-maids of the Cyprian Queen,
The which do still adorn her beauty's pride,

Help to adorn my beautifullest bride :

And as ye her array, still throw between
Some graces to be seen;

And as ye use to Venus, to her sing,

The whilst the woods shall answer, and your echo ring.

Now is my love all ready forth to come :
Let all the virgins therefore well await;
And ye fresh boys that tend upon her groom,
Prepare yourselves, for he is coming straight:
Set all your things in seemly good array,
Fit for so joyful day :

The joyfull'st day that ever sun did see.
Fair sun! shew forth thy favourable ray,
And let thy life-full heat not fervent be,
For fear of burning her sun-shiney face,
Her beauty to disgrace.

O fairest Phoebus! father of the Muse!
If ever I did honour thee aright,

Or sing the thing that mote thy mind delight,
Do not thy servant's simple boon refuse;
But let this day, let this one day be mine!
Let all the rest be thine:

Then I thy sovereign praises loud will sing,

That all the woods shall answer, and their echo ring.

Hark! how the minstrels 'gin to shrill aloud
Their merry music, that resounds from far.
The pipe, the tabor, and the trembling crowd *,
That well agree withouten breach or jar.
But most of all the damsels do delight,
When they their timbrels smite,

And thereunto do dance and carol sweet,

That all the senses they do ravish quite;

The whilst the boys run up and down the street,
Crying aloud with strong confused noise,

As if it were one voice:

Hymen! Io Hymen! Hymen! do they shout,
That even to the heavens their shouting shrill
Doth reach, and all the firmament doth fill:
To which the people, standing all about,
As in approvance, do thereto applaud,

And loud advance her laud:

And evermore they Hymen, Hymen, sing,

That all the woods them answer, and their echo ring.

Lo! where she comes along with portly pace,
Like Phoebe from her chamber of the east,

* A kind of fiddle.