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 diapered like the discoloured1 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;

variegated.

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 Tithone'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 concent,
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 three handmaids of the Cyprian queen, ye

The which do still adorn her beauty's pride,

Help to adorn my beautifulest 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 joyful'st 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 crowd1,
That well agree withouten breach or jar.
But, most of all, the Damsels do delight
When they their timbrels smite,

And thereunto do dance and carol sweet,
That all the senses they do ravish quite;

The whiles the boys run up and down the street,
Crying aloud with strong confused noise,
As if it were one voice,

Hymen, iö Hymen, Hymen, they do shout;
That even to the heavens their shouting shrill
Doth reach, and all the firmament doth fill;
To which the people standing all about,
As in approvance do thereto applaud,
And loud advance her laud;

And evermore they Hymen, Hymen sing,

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

Lo! where she comes along with portly pace,

Like Phoebe, from her chamber of the East,
Arising forth to run her mighty race,

Clad all in white, that seems a virgin best.
So well it her beseems, that ye would ween

Some angel she had been.

Her long loose yellow locks like golden wire,
Sprinkled with pearl, and pearling flowers atween,

Do like a golden mantle her attire;

And, being crowned with a garland green,

Seem like some maiden queen.

Her modest eyes, abashed to behold

So many gazers as on her do stare,

Upon the lowly ground affixed are;

Ne dare lift up her countenance too bold,

But blush to hear her praises sung so loud,
So far from being proud.

Nathless do ye still loud her praises sing,

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

Tell me, ye merchants' daughters, did ye see
So fair a creature in your town before;
So sweet, so lovely, and so mild as she,

Adorned with beauty's grace and virtue's store?
Her goodly eyes like sapphires shining bright,
Her forehead ivory white,

Her cheeks like apples which the sun hath rudded,

Her lips like cherries charming men to bite,

Her breast like to a bowl of cream uncrudded,

Her paps like lilies budded,

Her snowy neck like to a marble tower;
And all her body like a palace fair,
Ascending up, with many a stately stair,
To honour's seat and chastity's sweet bower.
Why stand ye still, ye virgins, in amaze,
Upon her so to gaze,

Whiles ye forget your former lay to sing,

To which the woods did answer, and your echo ring?

But if ye saw that which no eyes can see,
The inward beauty of her lively spright,
Garnished with heavenly gifts of high degree,
Much more then would ye wonder at that sight,
And stand astonished like to those which read
Medusa's mazeful head.

There dwells sweet love, and constant chastity,
Unspotted faith, and comely womanhood,

Regard of honour, and mild modesty;

There virtue reigns as queen in royal throne,

And giveth laws alone,

The which the base affections do obey,