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AH when will
this long vveary day haue end,
and lende me leaue to
come vnto my loue?
Hovv slovvly do the houres theyr
numbers spend?
How slowly does sad Time his feathers
moue?
Hast thee O fayrest Planet to thy home
Within the Westerne some:
Thy tyred steedes long
since haue need of rest.
Long though it be, at last
I see it gloome,
And the bright euening star with
golden creast
Appeare out of the East.
Fayre
childe of beauty, glorious lampe of loue
That all
the host of heauen in rankes doost lead,
And guydest
louers through the nights dread,
How chearefully
thou lookest from aboue,
And seemst to laugh atweene
thy twinkling light
As ioying in the sight
Of
these glad many which for ioy doe sing,
That all the
woods them answer and their echo ring.
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