THE GOOD-NIGHT, OR BLESSING.
BLESSINGS, in abundance come
To the bride, and to her groome ;
May the bed, and this short night,
Know the fulness of delight.
Pleasures many here attend ye,
And ere long a boy love send ye,
Curld and comely, and so trimme,
Maides, in time, may ravish him.
Thus a dew of graces fall
On ye both; Good-night to all.
LEECH boasts he has a pill, that can alone
With speed give sick men their salvation :
'Tis strange, his father long time has been ill,
And credits physick, yet not trusts his pill:
And why? he knowes he must of cure despaire,
Who makes the slie physitian his heire.
FAIRE Daffadills, we weep to see
You haste away so soone;
As yet the early rising sun
Has not attain'd his noone.
Stay, stay,
Untill the hasting day
But to the even-song ;
And, having pray'd together, we
We will goe with you along.
We have short time to stay as you,
We have as short a spring;
As quick a growth to meet decay,
As you, or any thing.
As your hours doe, and drie
Like to the summer's raine;
Or as the pearles of morning's dew,
Ne'r to be found againe.
You say you love me; that I thus must prove; If that you lye, then I will sweare you love.
UPON A LADY THAT DYED IN CHILD-BED, AND LEFT
A DAUGHTER BEHIND HER.
As gilly-flowers do but stay
To blow, and seed, and so away,
So you, sweet lady, sweet as May,
The garden's glory, liv'd a while,
To lend the world your scent and smile:
But when your own faire print was set
Once in a virgin flosculet,
Sweet as your selfe, and newly blown,
To give that life, resign'd your own;
But so, as still the mother's power
Lives in the pretty lady-flower.
A NEW YEARES GIFT SENT TO SIR SIMEON
No newes of navies burnt at seas;
No noise of late spawn'd tittyries;
No closset plot or open vent,
That frights men with a Parliament :
No new devise or late found trick,
To read by th' starres the kingdom's sick;
No ginne to catch the state, or wring
The free-born nosthrills of the King,
We send to you; but here a jolly
Verse crown'd with yvie and with holly;
That tels of winter's tales and mirth,
That milk-maids make about the hearth,
Of Christmas sports, the wassel-boule,
That tost up after Fox-i'th'hole ;
Of Blind-man-buffe, and of the care
That young men have to shooe the Mare;
Of twelf-tide cakes, of pease and beanes,
Wherewith ye
make those merry sceanes,
When as ye chuse your king and queen,
And cry out," Hey for our town green."
Of ash-heapes, in the which ye use
Husbands and wives by streakes to chuse ;
Of crackling laurell, which fore-sounds
A plentious harvest to your grounds;
Of these, and such like things, for shift,
We send in stead of New-yeares gift.
Read then, and when your faces shine
With bucksome meat and capring wine,
Remember us in cups full crown'd,
And let our citie-health go round,
Quite through the young maids and the men,
To the ninth number, if not tenne;
Untill the fired chesnuts leape
For joy to see the fruits ye reape,
From the plumpe challice and the cup
That tempts till it be tossed up.
Then as ye sit about your embers,
Call not to mind those fled Decembers;
But think on these, that are t'appeare,
As daughters to the instant yeare;
Sit crown'd with rose-buds, and carouse,
Till Liber Pater twirles the house
About your eares, and lay upon
The yeare, your cares, that's fled and gon.
And let the russet swaines the plough
And harrow hang up resting now;
And to the bag-pipe all addresse,
Till sleep takes place of wearinesse.
And thus, throughout, with Christmas playes Frolick the full twelve holy-dayes.
MATTENS, OR MORNING PRAYER.
WHEN with the virgin morning thou do'st rise,
Crossing thy selfe, come thus to sacrifice;
First wash thy heart in innocence, then bring
Pure hands, pure habits, pure, pure every thing.
Next to the altar humbly kneele, and thence
Give up thy soule in clouds of frankinsence.
Thy golden censors fil'd with odours sweet,
Shall make thy actions with their ends to meet.
BEGINNE with Jove; then is the worke halfe done,
And runnes most smoothly when 'tis well begunne.
Jove's is the first and last; the morn's his due,
The midst is thine, but Jove's the evening too,
As sure a mattins do's to him belong,
So sure he layes claime to the evensong.
THE BRACELET TO JULIA.
WHY I tye about thy wrist,
Julia, this my silken twist;
For what other reason is't,
But to shew thee how in part
Thou my pretty captive art?
But thy bond-slave is my heart;
'Tis but silke that bindeth thee,
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