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EARLY before the day doth spring; Let us awake my Muse and sing, It is no time to slumber,

So many joys this time doth bring, As time will fail to number.

But whereunto shall we bend our lays?
E 'en up to Heaven, again to raise
The maid which thence descended;
Hath brought again the golden days,
And all the world amended.

Rudeness itself she doth refine,
E 'en like an alchymist divine,
Gross times of iron turning
I nto the purest form of gold;

Not to corrupt, till Heaven wax old,
And be refin'd with burning.



E ACH day of thine, sweet month of May, Love makes a solemn holy-day.

I will perform like duty,

Sith thou resemblest every way
A strea, queen of beauty.

Both your fresh beauties do partake,
Either's aspect doth summer make,
Thoughts of young love awaking;
Hearts you both do cause to ache,
And yet be pleas'd with aching.

Right dear art thou, and so is she,
E'en like attracting sympathy,
Gains unto both like dearness;
I ween this made antiquity,

Name thee, sweet May of majesty,
A s being both like in clearness.

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Eve of the garden, queen of flow'rs
Love's cup wherein lie nectar's pow'rs,

I ugender'd first of nectar:

Sreet nurse-child of the spring's young hours, And beauty's fair character.

Bless'd jewel that the Earth doth wear,

E'en when the brave young Sun draws near,
To her hot love pretending;
Himself likewise like form doth bear,
At rising and descending.

Rose of the queen of love belov'd;
England's great kings divinely mov'd,
Gave roses in their banner;
It show'd that beauty's rose indeed,
Now in this age should them succeed,
And reign in more sweet manner.



E ACH month hath praise in some degree;
Let May to others seem to be
In sense the sweetest season;
September thou art best to me,
A nd best doth please my reason.

B ut neither for thy corn nor wine
Extol I those mild days of thine,
Though corn and wine might praise thee,
Heav'n gives thee honour more divine,
A nd higher fortunes raise thee.

Renown'd art thou (sweet month) for this,
E mong thy days her birth-day is,
G race, Plenty, Peace, and Honour,
In one fair hour with her were born,
Now since they still her crown adoro,
And still attend upon her.



E YE of the world, fountain of light,
Life of day, and death of night,
I humbly seek thy kindness:

S weet, dazzle not my feeble sight,
A nd strike me not with blindness.

B ehold me mildly from that face,

E 'en where thou now dost run thy race,
The sphere where now thou turnest;
Having like Phaeton chang'd thy place,
And yet hearts only burnest.

R ed in her right cheek thou dost rise,
E xalted after in her eyes,
Great glory there thou showest:

In th' other cheek when thou descendest,
N ew redness unto it thou lendest,
And so thy round thou goest.



EXCEEDING glorious is this star,
Let us behold her beams afar
In a side line reflected;

Sight bears them not, when near they are,
A nd in right lines directed.

Behold her in her virtue's beams,
Extending sun-like to all realms ;
The Sun none views too nearly:
H er well of goodness in these streams,
A ppears right well and clearly.
Radiant virtues, if your light
E nfeeble the best judgment's sight,
Great splendour above measure

Is in the mind, from whence you flow:
No wit may have access to know,
A nd view so bright a treasure.

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EXAMINE not th' inscrutable heart,
Light Muse of her, though she in part
Impart it to the subject;

Search not, although from Heav'n thou art,
And this an heav'nly object.

But since she hath a heart, we know,
E re some passions thence do flow,
Though ever ruled with honour;
H er judgment reigns, they wait below,
A nd fix their eyes upon her.

Rectify'd so, they in their kind
E ncrease each virtue of her mind,
Govern'd with mild tranquillity;
In all the regions under Heav'n,
No state doth bear itself so even,
A nd with so sweet facility.

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