Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.
YE learnèd sisters, which have oftentimes | |
Beene to me ayding, others to adorne, | |
Whom ye thought worthy of your gracefull rymes, | |
That even the greatest did not greatly scorne | |
To heare theyr names sung in your simple layes, | 5 |
But joyèd in theyr praise; | |
And when ye list your owne mishaps to mourne, | |
Which death, or love, or fortunes wreck did rayse, | |
Your string could soone to sadder tenor turne, | |
And teach the woods and waters to lament | 10 |
Your dolefull dreriment: | |
Now lay those sorrowfull complaints aside; | |
And, having all your heads with girlands crownd, | |
Helpe me mine owne loves prayses to resound; | |
Ne let the same of any be envide: | 15 |
So Orpheus did for his owne bride! | |
So I unto my selfe alone will sing; | |
The woods shall to me answer, and my Eccho ring. | |
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Early, before the worlds light-giving lampe | |
His golden beame upon the hils doth spred, | 20 |
Having disperst the nights unchearefull dampe, | |
Doe ye awake; and, with fresh lusty-hed, | |
Go to the bowre of my belovèd love, | |
My truest turtle dove; | |
Bid her awake; for Hymen is awake, | 25 |
And long since ready forth his maske to move, | |
With his bright Tead that flames with many a flake, | |
And many a bachelor to waite on him, | |
In theyr fresh garments trim. | |
Bid her awake therefore, and soone her dight, | 30 |
For lo! the wishèd day is come at last, | |
That shall, for all the paynes and sorrowes past, | |
Pay to her usury of long delight: | |
And, whylest she doth her dight, | |
Doe ye to her of joy and solace sing, | 35 |
That all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring. | |
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Bring with you all the Nymphes that you can heare | |
Both of the rivers and the forrests greene, | |
And of the sea that neighbours to her neare: | |
Al with gay girlands goodly wel beseene. | 40 |
And let them also with them bring in hand | |
Another gay girland | |
For my fayre love, of lillyes and of roses, | |
Bound truelove wize, with a blew silke riband. | |
And let them make great store of bridale poses, | 45 |
And let them eeke bring store of other flowers, | |
To deck the bridale bowers. | |
And let the ground whereas her foot shall tread, | |
For feare the stones her tender foot should wrong, | |
Be strewed with fragrant flowers all along, | 50 |
And diapred lyke the discolored mead. | |
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. | 55 |
|
Ye Nymphes of Mulla, which with carefull heed | |
The silver scaly trouts doe tend full well, | |
And greedy pikes which use therein to feed; | |
(Those trouts and pikes all others doo excell;) | |
And ye likewise, which keepe the rushy lake, | 60 |
Where none doo fishes take; | |
Bynd up the locks the which hang scatterd light, | |
And in his waters, which your mirror make, | |
Behold your faces as the christall bright, | |
That when you come whereas my love doth lie, | 65 |
No blemish she may spie. | |
And eke, ye lightfoot mayds, which keepe the deere, | |
That on the hoary mountayne used to towre; | |
And the wylde wolves, which seeke them to devoure, | |
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, | 75 |
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 | |
And carroll of Loves praise. | |
The merry Larke hir mattins sings aloft; | 80 |
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? | 85 |
When meeter were that ye should now awake, | |
T’ awayt the comming of your joyous make, | |
And hearken to the birds love-learnèd song, | |
The deawy leaves among! | |
Nor they of joy and pleasance to you sing, | 90 |
That all the woods them answer, and theyr eccho ring. | |
|
My love is now awake out of her dreames, | |
And her fayre eyes, like stars that dimmèd were | |
With darksome cloud, now shew theyr goodly beams | |
More bright then Hesperus his head doth rere. | 95 |
Come now, ye damzels, daughters of delight, | |
Helpe quickly her to dight: | |
But first come ye fayre houres, which were begot | |
In Joves sweet paradice of Day and Night; | |
Which doe the seasons of the yeare allot, | 100 |
And al, that ever in this world is fayre, | |
Doe make and still repayre: | |
And ye three handmayds of the Cyprian Queene, | |
The which doe still adorne her beauties pride, | |
Helpe to addorne my beautifullest bride: | 105 |
And, as ye her array, still throw betweene | |
Some graces to be seene; | |
And, as ye use to Venus, to her sing, | |
The whiles the woods shal answer, and your eccho ring. | |
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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. | |
Set all your things in seemely good aray, | |
Fit for so joyfull day: | 115 |
The joyfulst day that ever sunne did see. | |
Faire Sun! shew forth thy favourable ray, | |
And let thy lifull heat not fervent be, | |
For feare of burning her sunshyny face, | |
Her beauty to disgrace. | 120 |
O fayrest Phoebus! father of the Muse! | |
If ever I did honour thee aright, | |
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; | 125 |
Let all the rest be thine. | |
Then I thy soverayne prayses loud wil sing, | |
That all the woods shal answer, and theyr eccho ring. | |
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Harke! how the Minstrils gin to shrill aloud | |
Their merry Musick that resounds from far, | 130 |
The pipe, the tabor, and the trembling Croud, | |
That well agree withouten breach or jar. | |
But, most of all, the Damzels doe delite | |
When they their tymbrels smyte, | |
And thereunto doe daunce and carrol sweet, | 135 |
That all the sences they doe ravish quite; | |
The whyles the boyes run up and downe the street, | |
Crying aloud with strong confusèd noyce, | |
As if it were one voyce, | |
Hymen, iö Hymen, Hymen, they do shout; | 140 |
That even to the heavens theyr shouting shrill | |
Doth reach, and all the firmament doth fill; | |
To which the people standing all about, | |
As in approvance, doe thereto applaud, | |
And loud advaunce her laud; | 145 |
And evermore they Hymen, Hymen sing, | |
That al the woods them answer, and theyr eccho ring. | |
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Loe! where she comes along with portly pace, | |
Lyke Phoebe, from her chamber of the East, | |
Arysing forth to run her mighty race, | 150 |
Clad all in white, that seemes a virgin best. | |
So well it her beseemes, that ye would weene | |
Some angell she had beene. | |
Her long loose yellow locks lyke golden wyre, | |
Sprinckled with perle, and perling flowres atweene, | 155 |
Doe lyke a golden mantle her attyre; | |
And, being crownèd with a girland greene, | |
Seeme lyke some mayden Queene. | |
Her modest eyes, abashèd to behold | |
So many gazers as on her do stare, | 160 |
Upon the lowly ground affixèd are; | |
Ne dare lift up her countenance too bold, | |
But blush to heare her prayses sung so loud, | |
So farre from being proud. | |
Nathlesse doe ye still loud her prayses sing, | 165 |
That all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring. | |
|
Tell me, ye merchants daughters, did ye see | |
So fayre a creature in your towne before; | |
So sweet, so lovely, and so mild as she, | |
Adornd with beautyes grace and vertues store? | 170 |
Her goodly eyes lyke Saphyres shining bright, | |
Her forehead yvory white, | |
Her cheekes lyke apples which the sun hath rudded, | |
Her lips lyke cherryes charming men to byte, | |
Her brest like to a bowle of creame uncrudded, | 175 |
Her paps lyke lyllies budded, | |
Her snowie necke lyke to a marble towre; | |
And all her body like a pallace fayre, | |
Ascending up, with many a stately stayre, | |
To honors seat and chastities sweet bowre. | 180 |
Why stand ye still ye virgins in amaze, | |
Upon her so to gaze, | |
Whiles ye forget your former lay to sing, | |
To which the woods did answer, and your eccho ring? | |
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But if ye saw that which no eyes can see, | 185 |
The inward beauty of her lively spright, | |
Garnisht with heavenly guifts of high degree, | |
Much more then would ye wonder at that sight, | |
And stand astonisht lyke to those which red | |
Medusaes mazeful hed. | 190 |
There dwels sweet love, and constant chastity, | |
Unspotted fayth, and comely womanhood, | |
Regard of honour, and mild modesty; | |
There vertue raynes as Queene in royal throne, | |
And giveth lawes alone, | 195 |
The which the base affections doe obay, | |
And yeeld theyr services unto her will; | |
Ne thought of thing uncomely ever may | |
Thereto approch to tempt her mind to ill. | |
Had ye once seene these her celestial threasures, | 200 |
And unrevealèd pleasures, | |
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, | |
Open them wide that she may enter in, | 205 |
And all the postes adorne as doth behove, | |
And all the pillours deck with girlands trim, | |
For to receyve this Saynt with honour dew, | |
That commeth in to you. | |
With trembling steps, and humble reverence, | 210 |
She commeth in, before th’ Almighties view; | |
Of her ye virgins learne obedience, | |
When so ye come into those holy places, | |
To humble your proud faces: | |
Bring her up to th’ high altar, that she may | 215 |
The sacred ceremonies there partake, | |
The which do endlesse matrimony make; | |
And let the roring Organs loudly play | |
The praises of the Lord in lively notes; | |
The whiles, with hollow throates, | 220 |
The Choristers the joyous Antheme sing, | |
That al the woods may answere, and their eccho ring. | |
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Behold, whiles she before the altar stands, | |
Hearing the holy priest that to her speakes, | |
And blesseth her with his two happy hands, | 225 |
How the red roses flush up in her cheekes, | |
And the pure snow, with goodly vermill stayne | |
Like crimsin dyde in grayne: | |
That even th’ Angels, which continually | |
About the sacred Altare doe remaine, | 230 |
Forget their service and about her fly, | |
Ofte peeping in her face, that seems more fayre, | |
The more they on it stare. | |
But her sad eyes, still fastened on the ground, | |
Are governèd with goodly modesty, | 235 |
That suffers not one looke to glaunce awry, | |
Which may let in a little thought unsownd. | |
Why blush ye, love, to give to me your hand, | |
The pledge of all our band! | |
Sing, ye sweet Angels, Alleluya sing, | 240 |
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; | |
With joyance bring her and with jollity. | 245 |
Never had man more joyfull day then this, | |
Whom heaven would heape with blis, | |
Make feast therefore now all this live-long day; | |
This day for ever to me holy is. | |
Poure out the wine without restraint or stay, | 250 |
Poure not by cups, but by the belly full, | |
Poure out to all that wull, | |
And sprinkle all the postes and wals with wine, | |
That they may sweat, and drunken be withall. | |
Crowne ye God Bacchus with a coronall, | 255 |
And Hymen also crowne with wreathes of vine; | |
And let the Graces daunce unto the rest, | |
For they can doo it best: | |
The whiles the maydens doe theyr carroll sing, | |
To which the woods shall answer, and theyr eccho ring. | 260 |
|
Ring ye the bels, ye yong men of the towne, | |
And leave your wonted labors for this day: | |
This day is holy; doe ye write it downe, | |
That ye for ever it remember may. | |
This day the sunne is in his chiefest hight, | 265 |
With Barnaby the bright, | |
From whence declining daily by degrees, | |
He somewhat loseth of his heat and light, | |
When once the Crab behind his back he sees. | |
But for this time it ill ordainèd was, | 270 |
To chose the longest day in all the yeare, | |
And shortest night, when longest fitter weare: | |
Yet never day so long, but late would passe. | |
Ring ye the bels, to make it weare away, | |
And bonefiers make all day; | 275 |
And daunce about them, and about them sing, | |
That all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring. | |
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Ah! when will this long weary day have end, | |
And lende me leave to come unto my love? | |
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 tyrèd steedes long since have need of rest. | |
Long though it be, at last I see it gloome, | 285 |
And the bright evening-star with golden creast | |
Appeare out of the East. | |
Fayre childe of beauty! glorious lampe of love! | |
That all the host of heaven in rankes doost lead, | |
And guydest lovers through the nights sad dread, | 290 |
How chearefully thou lookest from above, | |
And seemst to laugh atweene thy twinkling light, | |
As joying in the sight | |
Of these glad many, which for joy doe sing, | |
That all the woods them answer, and their echo ring! | 295 |
|
Now ceasse, ye damsels, your delights fore-past; | |
Enough it is that all the day was youres: | |
Now day is doen, and night is nighing fast, | |
Now bring the Bryde into the brydall boures. | |
The night is come, now soon her disaray, | 300 |
And in her bed her lay; | |
Lay her in lillies and in violets, | |
And silken courteins over her display, | |
And odourd sheetes, and Arras coverlets. | |
Behold how goodly my faire love does ly, | 305 |
In proud humility! | |
Like unto Maia, when as Jove her took | |
In Tempe, lying on the flowry gras, | |
Twixt sleepe and wake, after she weary was, | |
With bathing in the Acidalian brooke. | 310 |
Now it is night, ye damsels may be gon, | |
And leave my love alone, | |
And leave likewise your former lay to sing: | |
The woods no more shall answere, nor your echo ring. | |
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Now welcome, night! thou night so long expected, | 315 |
That long daies labour doest at last defray, | |
And all my cares, which cruell Love collected, | |
Hast sumd in one, and cancellèd for aye: | |
Spread thy broad wing over my love and me, | |
That no man may us see; | 320 |
And in thy sable mantle us enwrap, | |
From feare of perrill and foule horror free. | |
Let no false treason seeke us to entrap, | |
Nor any dread disquiet once annoy | |
The safety of our joy; | 325 |
But let the night be calme, and quietsome, | |
Without tempestuous storms or sad afray: | |
Lyke as when Jove with fayre Alcmena lay, | |
When he begot the great Tirynthian groome: | |
Or lyke as when he with thy selfe did lie | 330 |
And begot Majesty. | |
And let the mayds and yong men cease to sing; | |
Ne let the woods them answer nor theyr eccho ring. | |
|
Let no lamenting cryes, nor dolefull teares, | |
Be heard all night within, nor yet without: | 335 |
Ne let false whispers, breeding hidden feares, | |
Breake gentle sleepe with misconceivèd dout. | |
Let no deluding dreames, nor dreadfull sights, | |
Make sudden sad affrights; | |
Ne let house-fyres, nor lightnings helpelesse harmes, | 340 |
Ne let the Pouke, nor other evill sprights, | |
Ne let mischivous witches with theyr charmes, | |
Ne let hob Goblins, names whose sence we see not, | |
Fray us with things that be not: | |
Let not the shriech Oule nor the Storke be heard, | 345 |
Nor the night Raven, that still deadly yels; | |
Nor damnèd ghosts, cald up with mighty spels, | |
Nor griesly vultures, make us once affeard: | |
Ne let th’ unpleasant Quyre of Frogs still croking | |
Make us to wish theyr choking. | 350 |
Let none of these theyr drery accents sing; | |
Ne let the woods them answer, nor theyr eccho ring. | |
|
But let stil Silence trew night-watches keepe, | |
That sacred Peace may in assurance rayne, | |
And tymely Sleep, when it is tyme to sleepe, | 355 |
May poure his limbs forth on your pleasant playne; | |
The whiles an hundred little wingèd loves, | |
Like divers-fethered doves, | |
Shall fly and flutter round about your bed, | |
And in the secret darke, that none reproves, | 360 |
Their prety stealthes shal worke, and snares shal spread | |
To filch away sweet snatches of delight, | |
Conceald through covert night. | |
Ye sonnes of Venus, play your sports at will! | |
For greedy pleasure, carelesse of your toyes, | 365 |
Thinks more upon her paradise of joyes, | |
Then what ye do, albe it good or ill. | |
All night therefore attend your merry play, | |
For it will soone be day: | |
Now none doth hinder you, that say or sing; | 370 |
Ne will the woods now answer, nor your Eccho ring. | |
|
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? | 375 |
O! fayrest goddesse, do thou not envy | |
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, | 380 |
His pleasures with thee wrought. | |
Therefore to us be favorable now; | |
And sith of wemens labours thou hast charge, | |
And generation goodly dost enlarge, | |
Encline thy will t’effect our wishfull vow, | 385 |
And the chast wombe informe with timely seed | |
That may our comfort breed: | |
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 | 390 |
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 callèd art | |
Of women in their smart; | 395 |
Eternally bind thou this lovely band, | |
And all thy blessings unto us impart. | |
And thou, glad Genius! in whose gentle hand | |
The bridale bowre and geniall bed remaine, | |
Without blemish or staine; | 400 |
And 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 free! | 405 |
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 | 410 |
Doe burne, that to us wretched earthly clods | |
In dreadful darknesse lend desirèd light | |
And all ye powers which in the same remayne, | |
More then we men can fayne! | |
Poure out your blessing on us plentiously, | 415 |
And happy influence upon us raine, | |
That we may raise a large posterity, | |
Which from the earth, which they may long possesse | |
With lasting happinesse, | |
Up to your haughty pallaces may mount; | 420 |
And, for the guerdon of theyr glorious merit, | |
May heavenly tabernacles there inherit, | |
Of blessèd 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: | 425 |
The woods no more us answer, nor our eccho ring! | |
|
Song! made in lieu of many ornaments, | |
With which my love should duly have been dect, | |
Which cutting off through hasty accidents, | |
Ye would not stay your dew time to expect, | 430 |
But promist both to recompens; | |
Be unto her a goodly ornament, | |
And for short time an endlesse moniment. | |