Ne sleepe (the harbenger of wearie wights)
Shall ever lodge upon mine ey-lids more;
Ne shall with rest
refresh my fainting sprights,
Nor failing force to former strength restore:
But I will wake and sorrow all the
With Philumene, my fortune to deplore;
With Philumene, the partner of my plight.
And ever as I see the starres to fall,
And under ground to goe to give them light
Which dwell in darknes, I
to minde will call
How my fair Starre (that shinde on me so bright)
Fell sodainly and faded under ground;
whose departure, day is turned to night,
And night without a Venus starre is found.
And she, my love that was, my Saint that is,
When she beholds from her celestiall throne
(In which she
joyeth in eternall blis)
My bitter penance, will my case bemone,
And pitie me that living thus doo die;
heavenly spirits have compassion
On mortall men, and rue their miserie.
So when I have with sorowe satisfide
Th importune fates, which vengeance on me seeke,
And th heavens
with long languor pacifide,
She, for pure pitie of my sufferance meeke,
Will send for me; for which I daylie
And will till then my painful penance eeke.
Weep, Shepheard! weep, to make my undersong!
MOST glorious Lord of Lyfe! that, on this day,
Didst make Thy triumph over death and sin;
harrowd hell, didst bring away
Captivity thence captive, us to win:
This joyous day, deare Lord, with joy
And grant that we, for whom thou diddest dye,
Being with Thy deare blood clene washt from sin,
live for ever in felicity!
And that Thy love we weighing worthily,
May likewise love Thee for the same againe;
for Thy sake, that all lyke deare didst buy,
With love may one another entertayne!
So let us love, deare
Love, lyke as we ought,
Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught.