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Till now thou warm'dst with multiplying loves

Two larks, two sparrows, or two doves;

All that is nothing unto this,

For thou this day couplest two phoenixes.

Thou mak'st a taper see

What the sun never saw, and what the ark *a

(Which was of fowl and beasts the cage and park)

Did not contain; one bed contains thro' thee

Two phoenixes, whose joined breasts

Are unto one another mutual nests;

Where motion kindles such fires as shall give

Young phoenixes, and yet the old shall live;

Whose love and courage never shall decline,

But make the whole year th'rough thy d;:y, O Valth. Iii. [tine!

Up then, fair phoenix bride I frustrate the sun;

Thyself from thine affection 30

Tak'st warmth enough, and from thine eye

All lesser birds will take their jollity.

Up, up, fair bride I and call

Thy stars from out their several boxes; take

Thy rubies, pearls, and diamonds, forth, and make

Thyself a constellation of them all;

And by their bla2ing signify

That a great princess falls, but doth not die:

Be thou a new star, that to us portends
Ends of much wonder, and be thou those ends. . . .4o

13' As EririrAL. On Tmen. Coint Tal.

Since thoudcst this day in new glory shine,
May all men date records from this day, Valentine!

Come forth, come forth! and as one glorious flame
Meeting another grows the same,
So meet thy Frederick, and so
To an unseparable union go;
Since separation

Falls not on such tilings as are infinite,
Nor things which are but once an disunite;
You 're twice inseparable, great, and one. 'jo

Go then to where the Bishop stays
To make yon one; his way, which divers ways
Must be effected; and when all is past,
And that y' are one, by hearts and hands made fast,
You two have one way left yourselves t' entwine,
Besides this Bishop's knot of Bishop Valentine.

But, oh I what ails the sun, that hence he stays

Longer than other days?

Stays he new light from these to get?

And finding here such stars is loth to set?

And why do you two walk

So slowly pac'd in this procession?

Is all your care but to be look'd upon,

And be to others spectacle and talk f

The feait with gluttonous delays

Is eaten, and too long their meat they praise.



The masquers come late, and I think will stay,

Like Fairies, till the cock crow them away.

Alas .' did not Antiquity assign

A night as well as day to thee, old Valentine? ;o


They did, and night is come; and yet we see
Formalities retarding thee.

What mean these ladies, which (as t!io*
They were to take a clock in pieces) go
So nicely about ihe bride?
A bride, before a good-night could be said,
Should vanish from her clothes into her bed.
As souls from bodies steal, and are not spy'd.
But now she 's laid: what tho' she be?
Yet there are more delays; for where is he? 80

He comes, and passeth thro' sphere after sphere;
First her sheets, then her arms, then any whero.
Let not this day, then, but this night, be thine;
. Thy day was but the eve to this, O Valentine!


Here lies a she sun, and a he moon th. re;

She gives the best light to his sphere j

Or each is both, and all, and so

They unto one another nothing owe:

And yet they do; but are

So just and rich in that coin which they pay, <i«

That neither would, nor needs, forbear nor stay;

Neither desires to be spar'd nor to spare:


They quickly pay their debt, and then

Take no acquittances, but pay again:

They pay, they give, they lend, and so let fall

No occasion to be liberal.

More truth, more courage, in these two do shine

Than all thy turtles have, and sparrows, Valentine!

, Vlil.

And by this act of these two phoenixes

Nature again restored is; 100

For since these two are two no more,

There's but one phcenix still, as was before.

Rest now, at last, and we

(As Satyrs watch the sun's uprise) will stay

Waiting when your eyes opened let out day,

Only desired, because your face we see;

Others near you shall whisp'ring speak,

And wagers lay, at which side day will break,

And win, by observing then whose hand it is

That opens first a curtain, her's or his. no

This will be try'd to-morrow after nine,

Till which hour we thy day enlarge, O Valentine! lit

t Hr ]




The sun-beams in the East are spread,

Leave, leave, fair Bride! yoursolitary bed;

No more shall you return to it alone,

It nurseth sadness; and your body's print,

Like to a grave, the yielding down doth dint:

You and your other you meet there anon;

Put forth, put forth, that warm balm-breathing; thijh,

Which when next time you in these sheets will smo

There it must meet another, ['her

Which never was, but must be oft'more nigh. 10

Come glad from thence, go gladder than you came,

To-day put on perfection and a woman's name.

Daughters of London; you which be
Our golden mines and fumish'd treasury;
You which are angels, yet still bring with you
Thousands of angels on your marriage days,
Help with your presence, and devise to praise
These rites, which also unto you grow due;
Conceitedly dress her, and beassign'd
By you fit place for every flower and iewel; 20

Make her for Love fit fuel
As gay 23 Flora, and as rich as Indie;

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