Go to my love, where she is careless laid,

Yet in her winter bower not well awake; Tell her the joyous time will not be stayed, Unless she do him by the forelock take; Bid her therefore herself soon ready make,

To wait on Love amongst his lovely crew; Where every one that misseth there her make Shall be by him amerced with penance due. Make haste therefore, sweet love, whilst it is prime, For none can call again the passed time.

LIKE AS A SHIP

LIKE as a ship, that through the ocean wide,
By conduct of some star doth make her way,
When, as a storm hath dimmed her trusty guide,
Out of her course doth wander far astray!
So I, whose star, that wont with her bright ray
Me to direct, with clouds is overcast,

Do wander now, in darkness and dismay,

Through hidden perils round about me placed;

Yet hope I well that, when this storm is past,
My Helice, the loadstar of my life,

Will shine again, and look on me at last,
With lovely light to clear my cloudy grief:
Till then I wander, careful, comfortless,
In secret sorrow and sad pensiveness.

EPITHALAMION

YE learned sisters, which have oftentimes

Been to me aiding, others to adorn,

Whom ye thought worthy of your graceful rhymes, That even the greatest did not greatly scorn

To hear their names sung in your simple lays,
But joyed in their praise;

And when ye list your own mishaps to mourn,
Which death, or love, or fortune's wreck did raise,
Your string could soon to sadder tenor turn,
And teach the woods and waters to lament

Your doleful dreariment:

Now lay those sorrowful complaints aside;

And, having all your heads with garlands crowned,
Help me mine own love's praises to resound;
Ne let the same of any be envíed:
So Orpheus did for his own bride!

So I unto myself alone will sing;

The woods shall to me answer, and my echo ring.

Early, before the world's light-giving lamp
His golden beam upon the hills doth spread,
Having dispersed the night's uncheerful damp,
Do ye awake; and, with fresh lusty-head,
Go to the bower of my beloved love,

My truest turtle dove;

Bid her awake; for Hymen is awake,

And long since ready forth his mask to move,

With his bright tead that flames with many a flake,

And many a bachelor to wait on him,

In their fresh garments trim.

Bid her awake therefore, and soon her dight,

For lo! the wished day is come at last,

That shall, for all the pains and sorrows past,

Pay to her usury of long delight:

And, whilst she doth her dight,

Do ye to her of joy and solace sing,

That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring.

Bring with you all the Nymphs that you can hear
Both of the rivers and the forests green,

And of the sea that neighbours to her near:
All with gay garlands goodly well beseen.
And let them also with them bring in hand
Another gay garland,

For my fair love, of lilies and of roses,

Bound truelove wise, with a blue silk riband.
And let them make great store of bridal posies,
And let them eke bring store of other flowers,
To deck the bridal bowers.

And let the ground whereas her foot shall tread,
For fear the stones her tender foot should wrong,
Be strewed with fragrant flowers all along,

And diapred like the discoloured mead.
Which done, do at her chamber door await,
For she will waken straight;

The whiles do ye this song unto her sing,

The woods shall to you answer, and your echo ring.

Ye Nymphs of Mulla, which with careful heed
The silver scaly trouts do tend full well,
And greedy pikes which use therein to feed
(Those trouts and pikes all others do excel);
And ye likewise, which keep the rushy lake,
Where none do fishes take;

Bind up the locks the which hang scattered light,
And in his waters, which your mirror make,
Behold your faces as the crystal bright,

That when you come whereas my love doth lie,

No blemish she may spy.

And eke, ye lightfoot maids, which keep the door,
That on the hoary mountain used to tower;
And the wild wolves, which seek them to devour,

With your steel darts do chase from coming near; Be also present here,

To help to deck her, and to help to sing,

That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring.

Wake now, my love, awake! for it is time:
The Rosy Morn long since left Tithon's bed,
All ready to her silver coach to climb;

And Phoebus 'gins to show his glorious head.
Hark! how the cheerful birds do chant their lays
And carol of love's praise.

The merry Lark her matins sings aloft;

The Thrush replies; the Mavis descant plays:
The Ouzel shrills; the Ruddock warbles soft;
So goodly all agree, with sweet consent,
To this day's merriment.

Ah! my dear love, why do ye sleep thus long,
When meeter were that ye should now awake,
T' await the coming of your joyous make,
And hearken to the birds' love-learned song,
The dewy leaves among?

For they of joy and pleasance to you sing,
That all the woods them answer, and their echo ring.

My love is now awake out of her dreams,

And her fair eyes, like stars that dimmed were

With darksome cloud, now show their goodly beams
More bright than Hesperus his head doth rear.
Come now, ye damsels, daughters of delight,

Help quickly her to dight!

But first come, ye fair hours, which were begot,

In Jove's sweet paradise, of Day and Night;

Which do the seasons of the year allot,

And all, that ever in this world is fair,

Do make and still repair:

And ye three handmaids of the Cyprian Queen,
The which do still adorn her beauty's pride,

Help to adorn my beautifullest bride:

And, as ye her array, still throw between

Some graces to be seen;

And, as ye use to Venus, to her sing,

The whiles the woods shall answer, and your echo ring.

Now is my love all ready forth to come:

Let all the virgins therefore well await:

And ye, fresh boys, that tend upon her groom,
Prepare yourselves, for he is coming straight.
Set all your things in seemly good array,
Fit for so joyful day:

The joyfullest day that ever Sun did see.
Fair Sun! show forth thy favourable ray,
And let thy life-full heat not fervent be,
For fear of burning her sunshiny face,
Her beauty to disgrace.

O fairest Phoebus! father of the Muse!

If ever I did honour thee aright,

Or sing the thing that mote thy mind delight,

Do not thy servant's simple boon refuse;
But let this day, let this one day, be mine;

Let all the rest be thine.

Then I thy sovereign praises loud will sing,

That all the woods shall answer, and their echo ring.

Hark! how the minstrels 'gin to shrill aloud
Their merry Music that resounds from far,
The pipe, the tabor, and the trembling crowd,
That well agree withouten breach or jar.