Open the temple gates unto my love!
Open them wide, that she may enter in!
And all the postes adorne as doth behove,
And all the pillars deck with girlands trim,
For to receyve this saynt with honour dew,
That commeth in to you!

With trembling steps and humble reverence
She commeth in before th' Almighty's view.
Of her, ye virgins, learne obedience,—
When so ye come into those holy places,
To humble your proud faces.

Bring her up to th' high altar, that she may
The sacred ceremonies there partake,
The which do endlesse matrimony make;
And let the roaring organs loudly play
The praises of the Lord in lively notes;
The whiles, with hollow throates,
The choristers the joyous antheme sing,
That all the woods may answer, and their

echo ring.

Behold! whiles she before the altar stands, Hearing the holy priest that to her speakes, And blesseth her with his two happy hands, How the red roses flush up in her cheekes, And the pure snow with goodly vermill

stayne,

Like crimson dyde in grayne:
That even the angels, which continually
About the sacred altar do remaine,

Ofte peeping in her face, that seems more fayre

The more they on it stare.

But her sad eyes, still fastened on the ground,
Are governed with goodly modesty,
That suffers not one look to glaunce awry
Which may let in a little thought unsound.
Why blush ye, love, to give to me your hand,
The pledge of all our band!

Sing, ye sweet angels, alleluya sing,
That all the woods may answer, and your
echo ring!

Now all is done: bring home the bride again

Bring home the triumph of our victory;
Bring home with you the glory of her gaine-
With joyance bring her and with jollity.
Never had man more joyfull day than this,
Whom Heaven would heape with bliss.
Make feast therefore now all this live-long
day;

This day for ever to me holy is.
Poure out the wine without restraint or stay-
Poure not by cups, but by the belly-full-
Poure out to all that wull!

And sprinkle all the postes and walls with wine,

That they may sweat and drunken be withall.
Crowne ye god Bacchus with a coronall,
And Hymen also crowne with wreaths of
vine;

And let the Graces daunce unto the rest,
For they can do it best;

The whiles the maydens do theyr carrol

sing,

To which the woods shall answer, and theyr echo ring.

Ring ye the bells, ye yong men of the towne,
And leave your wonted labors for this day:
This day is holy-do ye write it downe,
That ye for ever it remember may,-
This day the sun is in his chiefest hight,
With Barnaby the bright,

From whence declining daily by degrees,
He somewhat loseth of his heat and light,
When once the Crab behind his back he sees.
But for this time it ill-ordained was

To choose the longest day in all the yeare, And shortest night, when longest fitter weare;

Yet never day so long but late would passe. Ring ye the bells, to make it weare away, And bonfires make all day;

And daunce about them, and about them sing, That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring.

Ah! when will this long weary day have end, And lende me leave to come unto my love? How slowly do the houres theyr numbers spend!

How slowly does sad Time his feathers move! Hast thee, O fayrest planet, to thy home, Within the westerne foame;

Thy tyred steedes long since have need of rest. Long though it be, at last I see it gloome, And the bright evening-star with golden

crest

Appeare out of the east.

Fayre child of Beauty! glorious lamp of Love! That all the host of Heaven in rankes dost lead,

Now it is night-ye damsels may be gone,
And leave my love alone;

And leave likewise your former lay to sing: The woods no more shall answer, nor your echo ring.

Now welcome, Night! thou night so long expected,

That long daie's labour doest at last defray,
And all my cares which cruell Love collected,
Hast summd in one, and cancelled for aye!
Spread thy broad wing over my love and me,
That no man may us see;

And in thy sable mantle us enwrap,
From feare of perill and foule horror free.
Let no false treason seeke us to entrap,
Nor any dread disquiet once annoy
The safety of our joy;

But let the night be calme, and quietsome,
Without tempestuous storms or sad afray:
Lyke as when Jove with fayre Alemena lay,
When he begot the great Tirynthian groome;
Or lyke as when he with thy selfe did lye,
And begot Majesty.

dread,

How cherefully thou lookest from above, And seem'st to laugh atweene thy twinkling light,

As joying in the sight

Of these glad many, which for joy do sing, That all the woods them answer, aud their echo ring.

Now cease, ye damsels, your delights forepast;

echo ring.

Let no lamenting cryes, nor doleful teares, Be heard all night within, nor yet without; Ne let false whispers, breeding hidden feares, Breake gentle sleepe with misconceived dout. Let no deluding dreames, nor dreadful sights, Make sudden, sad affrights;

Ne let house-fyres, nor lightning's helples harmes,

Ne let the pouke, nor other evill sprights, Ne let mischievous witches with their charmes,

Ne let the woods them answer, nor theyr

echo ring.

But let stil Silence true night-watches keepe, That sacred Peace may in assurance rayne, And tymely Sleep, when it is tyme to sleepe, May poure his limbs forth on your pleasant playne;

The whiles an hundred little winged Loves,
Like divers-fethered doves,

Shall fly and flutter round about the bed,
And in the secret darke, that none reproves,
Their prety stealthes shall worke, and snares
shall spread

To filch away sweet snatches of delight,
Conceald through covert night.

Ye sonnes of Venus play your sports at will!
For greedy Pleasure, carelesse of your toyes,
Thinks more upon her paradise of joyes
Than what ye do, albeit good or ill.
All night therefore attend your merry play,
For it will soone be day;

Now none doth hinder you, that say or sing; Ne will the woods now answer, nor your echo ring.

might

The lawes of wedlock still dost patronize;
And the religion of the faith first plight
With sacred rites hast taught to solemnize;
And eke for comfort often called art
Of women in their smart-
Eternally bind thou this lovely band,
And all thy blessings unto us impart.
And thou, glad Genius! in whose gentle hand
The brydale bowre and geniall bed remaine,
Without blemish or staine;

And the sweet pleasures of theyr love's delight
With secret ayde dost succour and supply,
Till they bring forth the fruitful progeny;
Send us the timely fruit of this same night;
And thou, fayre Hebe! and thou, Hymen free!
Grant that it may so be;

Till which we cease your further praise to sing, Ne any wood shall answer, nor your echo ring.

peepes?

bright?

Is it not Cinthia, she that never sleepes,

But walks about high Heaven all the night?

O! fayrest goddesse, do thou not envy

My love with me to spy;

That we may raise a large posterity,
Which, from the Earth which they may long

possesse

With lasting happinesse,

Up to your haughty pallaces may mount;

thought,

And for a fleece of wool, which privily

The Latmian shepherd once unto thee brought,

His pleasures with thee wrought.
Therefore to us be favorable now;

And sith of women's labours thou hast charge,
And generation goodly dost enlarge,
Encline thy will t' effect our wishfull vow,
And the chast womb informe with timely
seed,

That may our comfort breed:

Till which we cease our hopefull hap to sing; Ne let the woods us answer, nor our echo ring.

May heavenly tabernacles there inherit,
Of blessed saints for to increase the count.
So let us rest, sweet love, in hope of this,
And cease till then our tymely joyes to sing:
The woods no more us answer, nor our echo
ring.

Song! made in lieu of many ornaments,
With which my love should duly have been deckt,
Which cutting off through hasty accidents,
Ye would not stay your due time to expect,
But promist both to recompens;
Be unto her a goodly ornament,
And for short time an endlesse monument!

EDMUND SPENSER.

In sickness and in sorrow

Thine eyes were on me still, And there was comfort in each glance To charm the sense of ill;