SECOND SONG. HOLD back thy hours, dark Night, till we have done ; The Day will come too soon; Young maids will curse thee, if thou steal'st away Stay, stay, and hide The blushes of the bride. Stay, gentle Night, and with thy darkness cover The kisses of her lover; Stay, and confound her tears and her shrill cryings, Her weak denials, vows, and often-dyings; Stay, and hide all : But help not, though she call. THIRD SONG. To bed, to bed! Come, Hymen, lead the bride, And lay her by her husband's side; Bring in the virgins every one That grieve to lie alone, That they may kiss while they may say a maid; Hesperus, be long a-shining, While these lovers are a-twining. ASPATIA'S SONG. LAY a garland on my hearse Of the dismal yew; Maidens, willow branches bear; My love was false, but I was firm FICKLENESS. COULD never have the power To love one above an hour, Venus, fix thou mine eyes fast, Or, if not, give me all that I shall see at last. From JOHN FLETCHER'S The Faithful Shepherdess, n.d. [1609-10.] THE SATYR AND CLORIN. 'HROUGH yon same bending plain THR That flings his arms down to the main, Since the lusty spring began; And live: therefore on this mould Lowly do I bend my knee In worship of thy deity. Deign it, goddess, from my hand, Belief to that the Satyr tells: To this present day ne'er grew, Sweeter yet did never crown The head of Bacchus; nuts more brown Hath often-times commanded me Hath decked their rising cheeks in red, Here be berries for a queen, Some be red, some be green; These are of that luscious meat, The great god Pan himself doth eat: All these, and what the woods can yield, I freely offer, and ere long Will bring you more, more sweet and strong; Till when, humbly leave I take, Lest the great Pan do awake, That sleeping lies in a deep glade, Under a broad beech's shade. I must go, I must run Swifter than the fiery sun. GREAT GOD PAN. SING his praises that doth keep Our flocks from harm, Pan, the father of our sheep; Tread we softly in a round, Whilst the hollow neighbouring ground Fills the music with her sound. Pan, oh, great god Pan, to thee Thus do we sing! Thou that keep'st us chaste and free As the young spring; Ever be thy honour spoke, From that place the morn is broke, To that place day doth unyoke! |