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i: xl: lxx: lxxv HAPPY ye leaves when as those lilly hands,
which hold my life in their dead doing might, shall handle you and hold in loves soft bands,
lyke captives trembling at the victors sight. And happy lines, on which with starry light,
those lamping eyes will deigne sometimes to look and reade the sorrowes of my dying spright,
written with teares in harts close bleeding book. And happy rymes bath'd in the sacred brooke,
of Helicon whence she derived is,
when ye behold that Angels blessed looke,
my soules long lacked foode, my heavens blis. Leaves, lines, and rymes, seeke her to please alone,
whom if ye please, I care for other none.
MARK when she smiles with amiable cheare,
and tell me whereto can ye lyken it : when on each eyelid sweetly doe appeare
an hundred Graces as in shade to sit. Lykest it seemeth in my simple wit
unto the fayre sunshine in somers day : that when a dreadfull storme away is flit,
thrugh the broad world doth spred his goodly ray: At sight whereof each bird that sits on spray,
and every beast that to his den was fled comes forth afresh out of their late dismay,
and to the light lift up theyr drouping hed. So my storme beaten hart likewise is cheared,
with that sunshine when cloudy looks are cleared.
FRESH spring the herald of loves mighty king
in whose cote armour richly are displayd all sorts of flowers the which on earth do spring
in goodly colours gloriously arrayd. Goe to my love, where she is carelesse layd,
yet in her winters bowre not well awake : tell her the joyous time wil not be staid
unlesse she doe him by the forelock take. Bid her therefore her selfe soone ready make,
to wayt on love amongst his lovely crew : where every one that misseth then her make,
shall be by him amearst with penance dew. Make hast therefore sweet love, whilest it is prime,
for none can call againe the passed time.
One day I wrote her name upon the strand,
but came the waves and washed it away : agayne I wrote it with a second hand,
but came the tyde, and made my paynes his pray. Vayne man, sayd she, that doest in vaine assay,
a mortall thing so to immortalize, for I my selve shall lyke to this decay, and eek my name bee wyped out lykewize. Not so, (quod I) let baser things devize
to dy in dust, but you shall live by fame : my verse your vertues rare shall eternize,
and in the hevens wryte your glorious name. Where whenas death shall all the world subdew
our love shall live, and later life renew.
YE learned 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,
But joyed in theyr prayse.
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
Your dolefull dreriment.
Now lay those sorrowfull complaints aside,
And having all your heads with girland crownd,
Helpe me mine owne loves prayses to resound,
Ne let the same of any be envide :
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.
Early before the worlds light giving lampe,
His golden beame upon the hils doth spred,
Having disperst the nights unchearefull dampe,
Doe ye awake, and with fresh lusty hed,
Go to the bowre of my beloved love,
My truest turtle dove,
Bid her awake ; for Hymen is awake,
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 wished day is come at last,
That shall for al 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,
That all the woods may answer and your eccho ring.
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.
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,
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,
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.
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,
No blemish she may spie.
And eke ye lightfoot mayds 'which keepe the deere,
That on the hoary mountayne use 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,
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,
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,
When meeter were that ye should now awake,
T'awayt the comming of your joyous make,
And hearken to the birds lovelearned song,
The deawy leaves among.
For 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 dreame, And her fayre eyes like stars that dimmed were With darksome cloud, now shew theyr goodly beams More bright then Hesperus his head doth rere. 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,