NATHANIEL FIELD

1587-1638

MATIN SONG

RISE, Lady Mistress, rise!

The night hath tedious been ;
No sleep hath fallen into mine eyes
Nor slumbers made me sin.

Is not she a saint then, say,

Thoughts of whom keep sin away?

Rise, Madam! rise and give me light,
Whom darkness still will cover,
And ignorance, darker than night,
Till thou smile on thy lover.
All want day till thy beauty rise;

For the grey morn breaks from thine eyes.

GEORGE WITHER

1588-1667

SLEEP, BABY, SLEEP!

SLEEP, baby, sleep! what ails my dear,
What ails my darling thus to cry?
Be still, my child, and lend thine ear,
To hear me sing thy lullaby.

My pretty lamb, forbear to weep;
Be still, my dear; sweet baby, sleep.

Thou blessed soul, what canst thou fear? What thing to thee can mischief do? Thy God is now thy father dear,

His holy Spouse thy mother too. Sweet baby, then forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

Though thy conception was in sin,
A sacred bathing thou hast had;
And though thy birth unclean hath been,
A blameless babe thou now art made.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

While thus thy lullaby I sing,

For thee great blessings ripening be; Thine Eldest Brother is a king,

And hath a kingdom bought for thee. Sweet baby, then forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

Sweet baby, sleep, and nothing fear;
For whosoever thee offends
By thy protector threaten'd are,

And God and angels are thy friends.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

When God with us was dwelling here,
In little babes He took delight;
Such innocents as thou, my dear,
Are ever precious in His sight.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

A little infant once was He;

And strength in weakness then was laid
Upon His Virgin Mother's knee,

That power to thee might be convey'd.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

In this thy frailty and thy need

He friends and helpers doth prepare,
Which thee shall cherish, clothe, and feed,
For of thy weal they tender are.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

The King of kings, when He was born,
Had not so much for outward ease;
By Him such dressings were not worn,

Nor such like swaddling-clothes as these.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

Within a manger lodged thy Lord,
Where oxen lay and asses fed:
Warm rooms we do to thee afford,
An easy cradle or a bed.

Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

The wants that He did then sustain

Have purchased wealth, my babe, for thee; And by His torments and His pain

Thy rest and ease secured be.

My baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

Thou hast, yet more, to perfect this,
A promise and an earnest got
Of gaining everlasting bliss,

Though thou, my babe, perceiv'st it not. Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;

Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

THOMAS CAREW

1589-1639

SONG

Ask me no more where Jove bestows,
When June is past, the fading rose;
For in your beauties, orient deep,
These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.

Ask me no more whither do stray
The golden atoms of the day;
For in pure love heaven did prepare
Those powders to enrich your hair.

Ask me no more whither doth haste
The nightingale when May is past;
For in your sweet dividing throat
She winters, and keeps warm her note.

Ask me no more if east or west

The phoenix builds her spicy nest;

For unto you at last she flies,
And in your fragrant bosom dies!

TO MY INCONSTANT MISTRESS

WHEN thou, poor Excommunicate
From all the joys of Love, shalt see
The full reward and glorious fate

Which my strong faith shall purchase me,
Then curse thine own Inconstancy.

A fairer hand than thine shall cure

That heart which thy false oaths did wound;
And to my soul a soul more pure

Than thine shall by Love's hand be bound,
And both with equal glory crowned.

Then shalt thou weep, entreat, complain
To Love, as I did once to thee:
When all thy tears shall be as vain

As mine were then: for thou shalt be
Damned for thy false Apostacy.

AN HYMENEAL DIALOGUE

Groom.-TELL me, my Love, since Hymen tied
The holy knot, hast thou not felt

A new-infused spirit slide

Into thy breast, whilst mine did melt?

Bride.-First tell me, Sweet, whose words were those?

For though your voice the air did break,

Yet did my soul the sense compose,

And through your lips my heart did speak.