Eternally bind thou this lovely band,
And all thy blessing unto us impart.
And thou, glad Genius! in whose gentle hand
The bridale bowre and geniall bed remaine,
Without blemish or staine,

400

And the sweet pleasures of theyr loves delight
With secret ayde doost succour and supply,
Till they bring forth the fruitfull progeny;
Send us the timely fruit of this same night.
And thou, fair Hebe! and thou, Hymen free! 405
Grant that it may so be.

Till which we cease your further prayse to sing;
Ne any woods shall answer, nor your eccho ring.

And ye, high Heavens! the temple of the gods,
In which a thousand torches flaming bright 410
Doe burn, that to us wretched earthly clods
In dreadful dark nesse lend desired light;
And all ye Powers which in the same remayne,
More than we men can fayne;

Poure out your blessing on us plentiously, 415
And happy influence upon us raine,

That we may raise a large posterity,

[sesse

Which from the earth, which they may long pos

With lasting happinesse,

Up to your haughty pallaces may mount;

And, for the guerdon of theyr glorious merit,
May heavenly tabernacles there inherit,
Of blessed saints for to increase the count.
So let us rest, sweet Love! in hope of this,

420

And cease till then our timely ioyes to sing: 425 The woods no more us answer, nor our eccho ring.

Song! made in lieu of many ornaments,
With which my love should duly have been deckt,
Which cutting off through hasty accidents,
Ye would not stay your dew time to expect, 430
But promist both to recompense;

Be unto her a goodly ornament,

And for short time an endlesse moniment!

433

POEMS.

POEM I.

In youth, before I wexed old,
The blynd boy, Venus baby,
For want of cunning made me bold,
In bitter hyve to grope for honny:
But when he saw me stung and cry,
He tooke his wing, and away did fly.

POEM II.

As Diane hunted on a day,

She chauned to come where Cupid lay,
His quiver by his head:

One of his shafts she stole away,

And one of hers did close convey

Into the others stead:

With that, Love wounded my loves hart;
But Diane, beasts-with Cupids dart.

POEM III.

I SAW, in secret to my dame

How little Cupid humbly came,

And said to her; All hayle, my Mother!'
But when he saw me laugh, for shame
His face with bashful blood did flame,

Not knowing Venus from the oth.

'Then never blush, Cupid!' quoth I, For Imany have err'd in this beauty.'

6

POEM IV.

UPON a day, as Love lay sweetly slumbring
All in his mothers lap;

A gentle bee, with his loud trumpet murm'ring,
About him flew by hap.

Whereof when he was wakened with the noise, And saw the beast so small;

'Whats this (quoth he) that gives so weak a voyce, 'That wakens men withall?'

In angry wise he flies about,

And threatens all with corage stout.

To whom his mother, closely smiling, sayd, "Twixt earnest and 'twixt game;

See! thou thy selfe likewise art lyttle made,

If thou regard the same.

And yet thou suffrest neither gods in sky,

Nor men in earth, to rest:

But, when thou art disposed cruelly,

Theyr sleepe thou doost molest.

Then eyther change thy cruelty,

'Or give lyke leave unto the fly.'
Nathelesse, the cruell boy, not so content,
Would needs the fly pursue;

And in his hand, with heedlesse hardiment,
Him caught for to subdue.

But when on it he hasty hand did lay,
The bee him stung therefore;

'Now out, alas! he cryde, and welaway!
'I wounded am full sore:

The fly, that I so much did scorne, 'Hath hurt me with his little horne.' Unto his mother straight he weeping came,

And of his griefe complayned:

Who could not chuse but laugh at his fond game, Though sad to see him pained.

Think now (quoth she) my Son! how great the Of those whom thou dost wound:

[smart 'Full many thou hast pricked to the hart,

'That pitty never found:

Therefore, henceforth some pitty take,

• When thou doest spoyle, of lovers, make. She tooke him streight full pitiously lamenting, And wrapt him in her smock:

She wrapt him softly, all the while repenting
That he the fly did mock.

She drest his wound, and it embaulmed well

With salve of soveraine might:

And then she bath'd him in a dainty well,

The well of deare Delight.

Who would not oft be stung as this,

To be so bath'd in Venus blis?

The wanton boy was shortly wel recured

Of that his malady:

But he, soone after, fresh again enured
His former cruelty.