Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Edward Farr, ed. Select Poetry of the Reign of Queen Elizabeth. 1845.

Good Morrowe

IV. George Gascoigne

YOU that haue spent the silent night

In sleepe and quiet rest,

And ioy to see the cheerefull lyght

That riseth in the East:

Now cleare your voyce, now cheere your hart,

Come helpe me now to sing:

Ech willing wight come beare a part,

To prayse the heauenly King.

And you whome care in prison keepes,

Or sickenes doth suppresse,

Or secret sorowe breakes your sleepes,

Or dolours doe distresse:

Yet beare a part in dolefull wise;

Yea, thinke it good accorde,

And exceptable sacrifice,

Ech sprite to prayse the Lorde.

The dreadfull night with darkesomnes

Had ouerspread the light,

And sluggish sleepe with drowsines

Had ouerprest our might:

A glasse wherein you may beholde

Ech storme that stops our breath,

Our bed the graue, our clothes lyke molde,

And sleepe like dreadfull death.

Yet as this deadly night did laste

But for a little space,

And heauenly daye, now night is past,

Doth shewe his pleasaunt face:

So must we hope to see God’s face

At last in heauen on hie,

When we haue changde this mortall place

For Immortalitie.

And of such haps and heauenly ioyes,

As then we hope to holde,

All earthly sightes and worldly toyes

Are tokens to beholde.

The daye is like the daye of doome,

The sunne the Sonne of man,

The skyes the heauens, the earth the tombe

Wherein we rest till then.

The Rainbowe bending in the skie,

Bedeckte with sundrye hewes,

Is like the seate of God on hie,

And seemes to tell these newes:

That as thereby he promised

To drowne the world no more,

So by the bloud which Christ hath shed

He will our helth restore.

The mistie cloudes that fall somtime,

And ouercast the skyes,

Are like to troubles of our time,

Which doe but dymme our eies:

Bu as such dewes are dryed vp quite,

When Phœbus shewes his face,

So are such fansies put to flighte,

Where God dooth guide by grace.

The carion Crowe, that lothsome beast,

Which cries agaynst the rayne,

Both for hir hewe and for the rest

The Deuill resembleth playne:

And as with gunnes we kill the crowe,

For spoyling our releefe,

The Deuill so must we overthrowe

With gunshote of beleefe.

The little birdes which sing so swete

Are like the angells’ voyce,

Which render God his prayses meete,

And teache vs to reioyce:

And as they more esteeme that merth

Than dread the night’s annoy,

So must we deeme our dayes on erth

But hell to heauenly ioye.

Unto which ioyes for to attayne

God graunt vs all hys grace,

And send vs, after worldlie payne,

In heauen to haue a place:

Where wee maye still enioye that light,

Which neuer shall decaye:

Lord, for thy mercy lend vs might

To see that ioyfull daye.