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,
But walkes about high heaven al the night?
O! fayrest goddesse, do thou
My love with me to spy:
For thou likewise didst love, though now unthought,
And for a fleece of
wooll, which privily
The Latmian shepherd once unto thee brought,
His pleasures with thee wrought.
to us be favorable now;
And sith of wemens labours thou hast charge,
And generation goodly dost enlarge,
thy will teffect our wishfull vow,
And the chast wombe informe with timely seed
That may our comfort
Till which we cease our hopefull hap to sing;
Ne let the woods us answere, nor our Eccho ring
And thou, great Juno! which with awful might
The lawes of wedlock still dost patronize;
And the religion
of the faith first plight
With sacred rites hast taught to solemnize;
And eeke for comfort often callàd art
women in their smart;
Eternally bind thou this lovely band,
And all thy blessings unto us impart.
glad Genius! in whose gentle hand
The bridale bowre and geniall bed remaine,
Without blemish or staine;
the sweet pleasures of theyr loves delight
With secret ayde doest 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
Grant that it may so be.
Til 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 desiràd light
And all ye powers which in the same
More then we men can fayne!
Poure out your blessing on us plentiously,
And happy influence
upon us raine,
That we may raise a large posterity,
Which from the earth, which they may long possesse
Up to your haughty pallaces may mount;
And, for the guerdon of theyr glorious merit,
heavenly tabernacles there inherit,
Of blessàd Saints for to increase the count.
So let us rest, sweet love,
in hope of this,
And cease till then our tymely joyes to sing:
The woods no more us answer, nor our eccho
Song! made in lieu of many ornaments,
With which my love should duly have been dect,
off through hasty accidents,
Ye would not stay your dew time to expect,
But promist both to recompens;
unto her a goodly ornament,
And for short time an endlesse moniment.
SHE fell away in her first ages spring,
Whilst yet her leafe was greene, and fresh her rinde,
whilst her braunch faire blossomes foorth did bring,
She fell away against all course of kinde.
to dye is right, but youth is wrong;
She fel away like fruit blowne downe with winde.
weepe, to make my undersong.
Yet fell she not as one enforst to dye,
Ne dyde with dread and grudging discontent,
But as one toyld with
travaile downe doth lye,
So lay she downe, as if to sleepe she went,
And closde her eyes with carelesse
The whiles soft death away her spirit hent,
And soule assoyld from sinfull fleshlinesse.
How happie was I when I saw her leade
The Shepheards daughters dauncing in a rownd!
would she trace and softly tread
The tender grasse, with rosie garland crownd!
And when she list advance
her heavenly voyce,
Both Nymphes and Muses nigh she made astownd,
And flocks and shepheards causàd
But now, ye Shepheard lasses! who shall lead
Your wandring troupes, or sing your virelayes?
shall dight your bowres, sith she is dead
That was the Lady of your holy-dayes?
Let now your blisse be
turnàd into bale,
And into plaints convert your joyous playes,
And with the same fill every hill and dale.
For I will walke this wandring pilgrimage,
Throughout the world from one to other end,
And in affliction
wast my better age:
My bread shall be the anguish of my mind,
My drink the teares which fro mine eyes
My bed the ground that hardest I may finde;
So will I wilfully increase my paine.