P.

Who hath the feet, whose steps all sweetness planteth? Who else; for whom Fame worthy trumpets wanteth? To you! to you! all song of praise is due:

Only to you, her sceptre VENUS granteth.

Who hath the breast, whose milk doth passions nourish? Whose grace is such, that when it chides doth cherish? To you! to you! all song of praise is due:

Only through you, the tree of life doth flourish.

Who hath the hand, which without stroke subdueth?
Who long dead beauty with increase reneweth?
To you! to you! all song of praise is due:
Only at you, all envy hopeless rueth.

Who hath the hair, which loosest fasteth tieth ?
Who makes a man live then glad when he dieth?
To you! to you! all song of praise is due:
Only of you, the flatterer never lieth.

Who hath the voice, which soul from senses sunders?
Whose force but yours the bolts of beauty thunders?
To you! to you! all song of praise is due :
Only with you, not miracles are wonders.

Doubt you to whom my Muse these notes intendeth;
Which now my breast o'ercharged to music lendeth?
To you! to you! all song of praise is due :
Only in you, my song begins and endeth.

SECOND SONG.

AVE I CAUGHT my heavenly jewel,
Teaching sleep most fair to be?
Now will I teach her, that she,
When she wakes, is too too cruel.

Since sweet sleep her eyes hath charmed,

The two only darts of LOVE;

Now will I with that boy prove

Some play, while he is disarmèd.

Her tongue, waking, still refuseth;
Giving frankly, niggard "No:"

Now will I attempt to know

What "No" her tongue sleeping, useth.

See the hand that waking, guardeth;
Sleeping, grants a free resort:
Now will I invade the fort;

Cowards, Love with loss rewardeth.

But, O fool! think of the danger
Of her just and high disdain;
Now will I, alas, refrain,

LOVE fears nothing else but anger.

Yet those lips, so sweetly swelling,

Do invite a stealing kiss:

Now will I but venture this,

Who will read must first learn spelling.

P.

O sweet kiss! but ah! she is waking.
Low'ring beauty chastens me:

Now will I away hence flee;

Fool! more fool! for no more taking.

THIRD SONG.

F ORPHEUS' voice had force to breathe such music's love

Through pores of senseless trees, as it could make

them move :

If stones good measure danced the Theban walls to build, To cadence of the tunes which AMPHION's lyre did yield: More cause a like effect at least wise bringeth.

O stones! O trees! learn hearing! STELLA Singeth!

If love might sweeten so a boy of shepherd brood,
To make a lizard dull, to taste love's dainty food:
If eagle fierce could so in Grecian maid delight,
As his light were her eyes, her death his endless night:
Earth gave that love. Heaven, I trow, love refineth.
O beasts! O birds! look! love! lo, STELLA shineth!

The beasts, birds, stones and trees feel this; and feeling, love.
And if the trees nor stones stir not the same to prove;
Nor beasts nor birds do come unto this blessed gaze:
Know that small love is quick, and great love doth amaze.
They are amazed: but you, with reason armed,
O eyes! O ears of men! how are you charmed!

FOURTH SONG.

NLY JOY! now here you are,
Fit to hear and ease my care.
Let my whispering voice obtain
Sweet reward for sharpest pain.
Take me to thee, and thee to me!

No, no, no, no, my Dear! let be.

Night hath closed all in her cloak, Twinkling stars love thoughts provoke, Danger hence, good care doth keep; JEALOUSY itself doth sleep.

Take me to thee, and thee to me!

No, no, no, no, my Dear! let be.

Better place no wit can find,
CUPID'S yoke to loose or bind;
These sweet flowers on fine bed too,
Us in their best language woo.
Take me to thee, and thee to me!

No, no, no, no, my Dear! let be.

This small light the moon bestows,
Serves thy beams but to disclose :
So to raise my hap more high.
Fear not else! none can us spy.
Take me to thee, and thee to me!

No, no, no, no, my Dear ! let be.

P.

That

you heard was but a mouse,

Dumb SLEEP holdeth all the house :

Yet asleep, methinks they say

"Young folks, take time while you may!" Take me to thee, and thee to me!

No, no, no, no, my Dear! let be.

Niggard time threats, if we miss
This large offer of our bliss;
Long stay ere he grant the same.
Sweet! then, while each thing doth frame,
Take me to thee, and thee to me!

No, no, no, no, my Dear! let be.

Your fair mother is abed,
Candles out, and curtains spread :
She thinks you do letters write.
Write but let me first indite

"Take me to thee, and thee to me!"

No, no, no, no, my Dear! let be.

Sweet! alas, why strive you thus?
Concord better fitteth us.

Leave to MARS the force of hands;
Your power in your beauty stands.
Take me to thee, and me to thee!

No, no, no, no, my Dear! let be.