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Pyrac. Come here then, Brontes, bear a Cyclop's part, And Steropes, both with your sledges stand, And strike a time unto them as they land; And as they forwards come, still guide their paces, In musical and sweet proportion'd graces; While I upon the work and frame attend, And Hymen's priests forth, at their seasons, send To chaunt their hymns; and make this square admire Our great artificer, the god of fire.

Here the musicians, attired in yellow, with wreaths of marjoram, and veils like Hymen's priests, sung the first staff of the following Epithalamion: which, because it was sung in pieces between the dances, shewed to be so many several songs; but was made to be read an entire poem. After the song, they came (descending in an oblique motion) from the Zodiac, and danced their first dance; then music interposed, (but varied with voices, only keeping the same chorus) they danced their second dance. So after, their third and fourth dances, which were all full of elegancy and curious device. And thus it ended.*

*The two latter dances were made by master Thomas Giles, the two first by master Hier. Herne: who, in the persons of the two Cyclopes, beat a time to them with their hammers. The tunes were master Alphonso Ferrabosco's. The device and act of the scene master Inigo Jones's, with addition of the trophies. For the invention of the whole, and the verses, Assertor qui dicat esse meos, imponet plagiario pudorem.

The attire of the masquers throughout was most graceful and noble; partaking of the best both ancient and later figure. The colours carnation and silver, enriched both with embroidery and lace. The dressing of their heads, feathers and jewels; and so excellently ordered to the rest of the habit, as all would suffer under any description, after the shew. Their performance of

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EPITHALAMION.

Up, youths and virgins, up, and praise
The god, whose nights outshine his days;
Hymen, whose hallowed rites
Could never boast of brighter lights;

Whose bands pass liberty.

Two of your troop, that with the morn were free,
Are now waged to his war.
And what they are,

If you'll perfection see,
Yourselves must be.

Shine, Hesperus, shine forth, thou wished star!

What joy or honours can compare

With holy nuptials, when they are

Made out of equal parts

Of years of states, of hands, of hearts?
When in the happy choice,

The spouse and spoused have the foremost voice!
Such, glad of Hymen's war,
Live what they are,

And long perfection see:
And such ours be,

Shine, Hesperus, shine forth, thou wished star!

The solemn state of this one night
Were fit to last an age's light;

all, so magnificent and illustrious, that nothing can add to the seal of it, but the subscription of their names :

The Duke of LENOX,
Earl of ARUNDELL,
Earl of PEMBROKE,
Earl of MONTGOMERY,
Lord D'AUBIGNY,

Lord of WALDEN,
Lord HAY,

Lord SANKRE,

Sir RO. RICHE,
Sir Jo. KENNETHIE,

'Master ERSKINE

But there are rights behind
Have less of state, but more of kind:
Love's wealthy crop of kisses,
And fruitful harvest of his mother's blisses.
Sound then to Hymen's war:
That what these are,
Who will perfection see,
May haste to be.

Shine, Hesperus, shine forth, thou wished star!
Love's commonwealth consists of toys;
His council are those antic boys,

Games, Laughter, Sports, Delights,
That triumph with him on these nights:
To whom we must give way,

For now their reign begins, and lasts till day.
They sweeten Hymen's war,
And, in that jar,

Make all, that married be,
Perfection see.

Shine, Hesperus, shine forth, thou wished star!

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Why stays the bridegroom to invade
Her, that would be a matron made?
Good-night, whilst yet we may
Good-night, to you, a virgin, say:
To-morrow rise the same

Your mother is, and use a nobler name.
Speed well in Hymen's war,
That, what you are,

By your perfection, we
And all may see.

Shine, Hesperus, shine forth, thou wished star!

wife or matron: which is a name of more dignity than D. Heins. in Nup. Ottonis Heurnii, Cras matri similis redibis.

To-night is Venus' vigil kept.
This night no bridegroom ever slept ;
And if the fair bride do,

The married say, 'tis his fault too.
Wake then, and let your lights

Wake too; for they'll tell nothing of your nights
But, that in Hymen's war,
You perfect are.

And such perfection, we
Do pray should be.

Shine, Hesperus, shine forth, thou wished star!

That, ere the rosy-finger'd morn

Behold nine moons, there may be born
A babe, t'uphold the fame

Of Ratcliffe's blood, and Ramsey's name :
That may, in his great seed,

Wear the long honours of his father's deed.
Such fruits of Hymen's war

Most perfect are:
And all perfection, we
Wish you should see.

Shine, Hesperus, shine forth, thou wished star!

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