And let them also with them bring in hand, For my fayre love, of lillyes and of roses, And let the ground whereas her foot shall tread, Which done, doe at her chamber dore awayt, For she will waken strayt, The whiles doe ye this song unto her sing, The woods shall to you answer and your Eccho ring. Ye Nymphes of Mulla, which with carefull heed Bynd up the locks the which hang scatterd light, That when you come whereas my love doth lie, And eke ye lightfoot mayds which keepe the deere, That on the hoary mountayne use to towre, And the wylde wolves which seeke them to devoure, 50 60 With your steele darts doo chace from comming neer 70 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 Tithones bed, All ready to her silver coche to clyme, And Phoebus gins to shew his glorious hed. Hark how the cheerefull birds do chaunt theyr laies 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 merriment. Ah my deere love why doe ye sleepe thus long, 80 . 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 But first come ye fayre houres which were begot And ye three handmayds of the Cyprian Queene, The which doe still adorne her beauties pride, Helpe to addorne 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, 90 100 The whiles the woods shal answer and your eccho ring. Now is my love all ready forth to come, 110 Let all the virgins therefore well awayt, And ye fresh boyes that tend upon her groome Prepare your selves, for he is comming strayt. The joyfulst day that ever sunne did see. O fayrest Phoebus, father of the Muse, 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 myne, 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 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, 120 130 Crying aloud with strong confused noyce, Hymen io Hymen, Hymen they do shout, And evermore they Hymen Hymen sing, That al the woods them answer and theyr eccho ring. Loe where she comes along with portly pace, 140 150 Clad all in white, that seemes a virgin best. So well it her beseemes that ye would weene Her long loose yellow locks lyke golden wyre, Sprinckled with perle, and perling flowres atweene, And being crowned with a girland greene, Ne dare lift up her countenance too bold, But blush to heare her prayses sung so loud, 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 160 Adornd with beautyes grace and vertues store, 170 Her cheekes lyke apples which the sun hath rudded, Her brest like to a bowle of creame uncrudded, Her paps lyke lyllies budded, Her snowie necke lyke to a marble towre, Whiles ye forget your former lay to sing, To which the woods did answer and your eccho ring? But if ye saw that which no eyes can see, 180 Garnisht with heavenly guifts of high degree, There dwels sweet love and constant chastity, There vertue raynes as Queene in royal throne, The which the base affections doe obay, And yeeld theyr services unto her will, 190 Ne thought of thing uncomely ever may 200 Then would ye wonder and her prayses sing, That al the woods should answer and your echo ring. Open the temple gates unto my love, With trembling steps and humble reverence, Bring her up to th'high altar, that she may The which do endlesse matrimony make, The Choristers the joyous Antheme sing, That al the woods may answere and their eccho ring. Behold whiles she before the altar stands Hearing the holy priest that to her speakes That even th' Angels which continually, 210 220 230 Forget their service and about her fly, Ofte peeping in her face that seemes more fayre, But her sad eyes still fastened on the ground, That suffers not one looke to glaunce awry, Sing ye sweet Angels, Alleluya sing, That all the woods may answere and your eccho ring. Now al is done; bring home the bride againe, Bring home the triumph of our victory, Bring home with you the glory of her gaine, Make feast therefore now all this live long day, Poure out the wine without restraint or stay, And sprinkle all the postes and wals with wine, And Hymen also crowne with wreathes of vine, For they can doo it best : The whiles the maydens doe theyr carroll sing, 240 250 To which the woods shall answer and theyr eccho ring. 260 This day the sunne is in his chiefest hight, From whence declining daily by degrees, And daunce about them, and about them sing: Ah! when will this long weary day have end, And lende me leave to come unto my love? 270 How slowly do the houres theyr numbers spend? 280 How slowly does sad Time his feathers move? Hast thee O fayrest Planet to thy home Within the Westerne fome: Thy tyred steedes long since have need of rest. |