Edmund Spenser

Epithalamion

Ye learned sisters, which have oftentimes Been to me aiding, others to adorn, Whom ye thought worthy of your graceful rhymes,

That even the greatest did not greatly

scorn

To hear their names sung in your simple lays,

But joyed in their praise;

And when ye list your own mishaps to

mourn,

Which death, or love, or fortune's wreck did raise,

Your string could soon to sadder tenor turn,

And teach the woods and waters to lament Your doleful dreriment:

Now lay those sorrowful complaints aside,

And having all your heads with garland crowned,

Help me mine own love's praises to resound;

Ne let the same of any be envied:
So Orpheus did for his own bride,
So I unto myself alone will sing;
The woods shall to me answer, and my
echo ring.

Early, before the world's light-giving lamp His golden beam upon the hills doth spread,

Having disperst the night's uncheerful damp,

Do ye awake; and with fresh lustihead
Go to the bower of my beloved love,
My truest turtle dove:

Bid her awake; for Hymen is awake,

And long since ready forth his mask to

move,

With his bright tead that flames with many a flake,

And many a bachelor to wait on him,
In their fresh garments trim.

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

EPITHALAMION

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 discoloured 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,

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

EPITHALAMION

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 Tithon'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 his matins sings aloft; The Thrush replies; the Mavis descant plays;

The Ouzel shrills; the Ruddock warbles

soft;

So goodly all agree with sweet consent To this day's merriment.

Ah! my dear love, why do ye sleep thus long,

When meeter were that ye should now awake,

To await the coming of your joyous make,