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,
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,
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 they'r carroll sing, To which the woods shall answer, and theyr eccho ring.
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,
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 ordained was,
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;
And daunce about them, and about them sing, That all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring.
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 ?
How slowly does sad Time his feathers move? Hast thee, O fayrest Planet, to thy home, Within the Westerne fome:
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,
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,
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.
Now it is night, ye damsels may be gon,
And leave my love alone,
The woods no more shall answere, nor your And leave likewise your former lay to sing: echo ring.
Now welcome, night! thou night so long expected,
That long daies labour doest at last defray,
And all my cares, which cruell Love collected,
Hast sumd in one, and cancelled for aye:
Spread thy broad wing over my love and me,
That no man may us see;
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,
But let the night be calme, and quietsome,
Without tempestuous storms or sad afray:
Lyke as when Jove with fayre Alcmena lay,
Or lyke as when he with thy selfe did lie
When he begot the great Tirynthian groome:
And begot Majesty.
And let the mayds and yongmen cease to sing; Ne let the woods them answer nor theyr
Let no lamenting cryes, nor dolefull teares, Thy tyred steedes long since have need of rest. Be heard all night within, nor yet without: Long though it be, at last I see it gloome, Ne let false whispers, breeding hidden feares, And the bright evening-star with golden creast Breake gentle sleepe with misconceived dout. Appeare out of the East. [love! Let no deluding dreames, nor dreadfull sights, Fayre childe of beauty! glorious lampe of Make sudden sad affrights; That all the host of heaven in rankes doost Ne let house-fyres, nor lightnings helpelesse lead, [dread, Ne let the Pouke, nor other evill sprights, And guydest lovers through the nights sad Nelet mischivous witches with theyr charmes, How chearefully thou lookest from above, Ne let hob Goblins, names whose sence we see And seemst to laugh atweene thy twinkling light,
Fray us with things that be not:
Let not the shriech Oule nor the Storke be Nor the night Raven, that still deadly yels; Nor damned ghosts, cald up with mighty spels, Nor griesly vultures, make us once affeard:
Ne let th' unpleasant Quyre of Frogs still And thou, great Juno! which with awful Make us to wish theyr choking.
Let none of these theyr drery accents sing; The lawes of wedlock still dost patronize; Ne let the woods them answer, nor theyr eccho And the religion of the faith first plight
With sacred rites hast taught to solemnize;
And eeke for comfort often called art
But let stil Silence trew night-watches keepe,Of women in their smart;
That sacred Peace may in assurance rayne,
And tymely Sleep, when it is tyme to sleepe,
May poure his limbs forth on your pleasant
playne;
The whiles an hundred little winged loves,
Like divers-fethered doves,
Shall fly and flutter round about your bed,
And in the secret darke, that none reproves,
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,
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;
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?
O! fayrest goddesse, do thou not envy
My love with me to spy:
[thought,
For thou likewise didst love, though now un-
And for a fleece of wooll, which privily
The Latmian shepherd once unto thee brought,
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,
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.
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;
And the sweet pleasures of theyr loves delight
With secret ayde deest 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!
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 desired light;
And all ye powers which in the same remayne,
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
With lasting happinesse,
[possesse
Up to your haughty pallaces may mount;
And, for the guerdon of theyr glorious merit,
May heavenly tabernacles there inherit,
Of blessed 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
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,
But promist both to recompens;
Be unto her a goodly ornament,
And for short time an endlesse moniment.
TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE AND MOST VERTUOUS LADIES,
THE LADIE MARGARET,
COUNTESSE OF CUMBERLAND, AND
THE LADIE MARIE,
COUNTESSE OF WARWICKE.
HAVING in the greener times of my youth, I doe dedicate joyntly unto you two honorable composed these former two Hymnes in the sisters, as to the most excellent and rare praise of Love and Beautie, and finding that ornaments of all true love and beautie, both the same too much pleased those of like age in the one and the other kinde; humbly beand disposition, which being too vehemently seeching you to vouchsafe the patronage of caried with that kind of affection, do rather them, and to accept this my humble service, sucke out poyson to their strong passion, then in lieu of the great graces and honourable hony to their honest delight, I was moved by favours which ye dayly shew unto me, untill the one of you two most excellent Ladies, to such time as I may, by better meanes, yeeld call in the same. But, being unable so to doe, you some more notable testimonie of my by reason that many copies thereof were for- thankfull mind and dutifull devotion. And merly scattered abroad, I resolved at least to even so I pray for your happinesse. Greenamend, and, by way of retractation, to reforme wich this first of September, 1596. Your them, making, in stead of those two Hymnes Honors most bounden ever, of earthly or naturall love and beautie, two in all humble service, others of heavenly and celestiall. The which
AN HYMNE IN HONOUR OF LOVE.
LOVE, that long since hast to thy mighty | Of mighty Victors, with wyde wounds em
The cruell worker of your kindly smarts, Prepare your selves, and open wide your harts For to receive the triumph of your glorie, That made you merie oft when ye were sorie.
And ye, faire blossomes of youths wanton breed,
Yet wanting light to guide his wandring way, His owne faire mother, for all creatures sake, Did lend him light from her owne goodly ray; Then through the world his way he gan to take,
The world, that was not till he did it make, Whose sundrie parts he from themselves did
The which before had lyen confused ever.
The earth, the ayre, the water, and the fyre,
Then gan to raunge them selves in huge array,
And with contràry forces to conspyre
Each against other by all meanes they may,
Threatning their owne confusion and decay:
Ayre hated earth, and water hated fyre,
Till Love relented their rebellious yre.
He then them tooke, and, tempering goodly
well
Which in the conquests of your beautie bost,
Wherewith your lovers feeble eyes you feed, Their contrary dislikes with loved meanes,
But sterve their harts that needeth nourture Did place them all in order, and compell
[host, To keepe them selves within their sundrie
Prepare your selves to march amongst his
And all the way this sacred hymne do sing,
Made in the honor of your Soveraigne king.
Great God of MiGHT, that reignest in the
mynd,
And all the bodie to thy hest doest frame,
Victor of gods, subduer of mankynd,
That doest the Lions and fell Tigers tame,
Making their cruell rage thy scornefull game,
And in their roring taking great delight;
Who can expresse the glorie of thy might?
Or who alive can perfectly declare
The wondrous cradle of thine infancie,
When thy great mother Venus first thee bare,
Begot of Plentie and of Penurie,
Though elder then thine owne nativitie,
And yet a chyld, renewing still thy yeares,
And yet the eldest of the heavenly Peares?
For ere this worlds still moving mightie masse
Out of great Chaos ugly prison crept,
In which his goodly face long hidden was
From heavens view, and in deepe darknesse
kept,
Love, that had now long time securely slept
In Venus lap, unarmed then and naked,
Gan reare his head, by Clotho being waked:
And, taking to him wings of his owne heate,
Kindled at first from heavens life-giving fyre,
He gan to move out of his idle seate;
Weakely at first, but after with desyre
Lifted aloft, he gan to mount up hyre,
And, like fresh Eagle, make his hardie flight
Through all that great wide wast, yet wanting
light.
Together linkt with Adamantine chaines;
Yet so, as that in every living wight
They mixe themselves, and shew their kindly
might.
So ever since they firmely have remained,
And duly well observed his beheast;
Through which now all these things that are
contained
Within this goodly cope, both most and least,
Their being have, and dayly are increast
Through secret sparks of his infused fyre,
Which in the barraine cold he doth inspyre.
Thereby they all do live, and moved are
To multiply the likenesse of their kynd,
Whilest they seeke onely, without further
care,
[fynd;
To quench the flame which they in burning
Not for lusts sake, but for eternitie,
But man that breathes a more immortall mynd,
Seekes to enlarge his lasting progenie:
For, having yet in his deducted spright
Some sparks remaining of that heavenly fyre,
He is enlumind with that goodly light,
Unto like goodly semblant to aspyre;
Therefore in choice of love he doth desyre
That seemes on earth most heavenly to em-
That same is Beautie, borne of heavenly race.
What wonder then, if with such rage extreme Yet herein eke thy glory seemeth more,
Fraile men, whose eyes seek heavenly things to By so hard handling those which best thee
At sight thereof so much enravisht bee?
Which well perceiving, that imperious boy
Both therwith tip his sharp empoisned darts,
Which glancing through the eyes with coun-
tenance coy
[harts,
Rest not till they have pierst the trembling
And kindled flame in all their inner parts,
Which suckes the blood, and drinketh up the
lyfe,
That, ere thou doest them unto grace restore, Thou mayest well trie if they will ever swerve, And, having got it, may it more esteeme; And mayest them make it better to deserve, For things hard gotten men more dearely deeme. So hard those heavenly beauties he enfyred As things divine, least passions doe impresse, The more of stedfast mynds to be admyred, The more they stayed be on stedfastnesse; But baseborne mynds such lamps regard the lesse, Which at first blowing take not hastie fyre; Such fancies feele no love, but loose desyre. For love is Lord of truth and loialtie, [daine; Lifting himselfe out of the lowly dust Their lives they loath, and heavens light dis- On golden plumes up to the purest skie,
Of carefull wretches with consuming griefe.
Thenceforth they playne, and make ful piteous
Unto the author of their balefull bane:
The daies they waste, the nights they grieve
and grone,
No light but that, whose lampe doth yet remaine
Fresh burning in the image of their eye,
They deigne to see, and seeing it still dye.
That whilst thou tyrant Love doest laugh and
Above the reach of loathly sinfull lust,
Whose base affect through cowardly distrust
Of his weake wings dare not to heaven fly,
But like a moldwarpe in the earth doth ly.
[play, His dunghill thoughts, which do themselves
At their complaints, making their paine thy
Whylest they lye languishing like thrals for-
lorne,
The whyles thou doest triumph in their decay;
And otherwhyles, their dying to delay,
Thou doest emmarble the proud hart of her
Whose love before their life they doe prefer.
So hast thou often done (ay me, the more!)
To me thy vassall, whose yet bleeding hart
With thousand wounds thou mangled hast so
That whole remaines scarse any little part;
Yet, to augment the anguish of my smart,
Thou hast enfrosen her disdainefull brest,
That no one drop of pitie there doth rest.
Why then do I this honor unto thee,
Thus to ennoble thy victorious name,
Since thou doest shew no favour unto mee,
Ne once move ruth in that rebellious Dame,
Somewhat to slacke the rigour of my flame?
Certes small glory doest thou winne hereby,
To let her live thus free, and me to dy.
But if thou be indeede, as men thee call,
The worlds great Parent, the most kind
To dirtie drosse, no higher dare aspyre,
Ne can his feeble earthly eyes endure
The flaming light of that celestiall fyre
Which kindleth love in generous desyre,
And makes him mount above the native might
Of heavie earth, up to the heavens hight.
Such is the powre of that sweet passion,
That it all sordid basenesse doth expell,
And the refyned mynd doth newly fashion
Unto a fairer forme, which now doth dwell
In his high thought, that would it selfe excell,
Which he beholding still with constant sight,
Admires the mirrour of so heavenly light.
Whose image printing in his deepest wit,
He thereon feeds his hungrie fantasy,
Still full, yet never satisfyde with it;
Like Tantale, that in store doth sterved ly,
So doth he pine in most satiety;
For nought may quench his infinite desyre,
Once kindled through that first conceived fyre.
Thereon his mynd affixed wholly is,
Ne thinks on ought but how it to attaine; pre-That seemes in it all blisses to containe, His care, his joy, his hope, is all on this,
Of living wights, the soveraine Lord of all,
How falles it then that with thy furious
Thou doest afflict as well the not-deserver,
As him that doeth thy lovely heasts despize,
And on thy subjects most doest tyrannize?
In sight whereof all other blisse seemes vaine:
Thrise happie man! might he the same pos-
He faines himselfe, and doth his fortune blesse.
And though he do not win his wish to end,
Yet thus farre happie he himselfe doth weene,
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