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On a foule Morning, being then to take a journey. W
Here art thou Sol, while thus the blind fold Day
Staggers out of the East, loses her way Stumbling on night? Rouze thee Illustrious Youth, And let no dull mists choake the Lights faire growth. Point here thy beames; ô glance on yonder flocks, And make their fleeces Golden as thy locks. Unfold thy faire front, and there shall appeare Full glory, Aaming in her owne free spheare. Gladnesse shall cloath the Earth, we will instile The face of things, an universall smile. Say to the Sullen Morne, thou com'st to court her; And wilt command proud Zephirus to sport her With wanton gales : his balmy breath shall licke The tender drops which tremble on her cheeke; Which rarified, and in a gentle raine On those delicious bankes distillid againe, Shall rise in a sweet Harvest, which discloses To every blushing Bed of new-borne Roses. Hee'l fan her bright locks, teaching them to low, And friske in curl'd Meanders; Hee will throw A fragrant Breath suckt from the spicy nest O'th' pretious Phænix, warme upon her Breast. Hee with a dainty and soft hand will trim, And brush her Azure Mantle, which shall swim In silken Volumes; wheresoe're shee'l tread, Bright clouds like Golden Aeeces shall be spread.
Rise then (faire blew-ey'd Maid) rise and discover Thy silver brow, and meet thy Golden lover. See how hee runs, with what a hasty flight, Into thy bosome, bath'd with liquid Light. Fly, Ay prophane fogs, farre hence fly away, Taint 'not the pure streames of the springing Day, With your dull influence; it is for you, To sit and scoule upon Nights heavy brow; Not on the fresh cheekes of the virgin Morne, Where nought but smiles, and ruddy joyes are worne. Fly then, and doe not thinke with her to stay ;
Let it suffice, shee'l weare no maske to day.
Upon the faire Ethiopian sent to a Gentlewoman.
O here the faire Chariclia ! in whom strove
So false a Fortune, and so true a Love. Now after all her toyles by Sea and Land,
O may she but arrive at your white hand, Her hopes are crown'd, onely she feares that than,
Shee shall appeare true Ethiopian.
To the Morning
SatisfaElion for sleepe.
Hat succour can I hope the Muse will send
Whose drowsinesse hath wrong'd the Muses friend?
O in that morning of my shame! when I
grave, and hold up an exalted arme
Bright Lady of the Morne, pitty doth lye
anger, and revive my blisse.
But thou, faint God of sleepe, forget that I
Upon the Powder day.
Ow fit our well-rank'd Feasts do follow!
All mischiefe comes after An-Hallow.
Ove, brave Vertues younger Brother,
Erst hath made my Heart a Mother, Shee consults the conscious Spheares, To calculate her young sons yeares. Shee askes if sad, or saving powers, Gave Omen to his infant howers, Shee askes each starre that then stood by,
If poore Love shall live or dy.
Are these the Beames that rule thy Day?
If those sharpe Rayes putting on
Points of Death' bid Love be gon,