| |
|
NOw is my
loue all ready forth to come,
Let all the virgins
therefore well awayt,
And ye fresh boyes that tend
vpon her groome
Prepare your selues; for he is
comming strayt.
Set all your things in seemely good
aray
Fit for so ioyfull day,
The ioyfullst day
that euer sunne did see
Faire Sun, shew forth thy
fauourable ray,
And let thy lifull heat not feruent
be
For feare of burning her sunshyny face,
Her
beauty to disgrace.
O fayrest Phoebus, father of the
Muse,
If euer I did honour thee aright,
Or sing
the thing, that mote thy mind delight,
Doe not thy
seruants simple boone refuse,
But let this day let
this one day be myne,
Let all the rest be thine.
Then I thy souerayne prayses loud wil sing,
That all
the woods shal answer and theyr eccho ring.
|
|
|
