Lo, how finely the Graces can it foote They dauncen defy, and singen soote, Wants not a fourth Grace to make the daunce even? She shal be a Grace, To fyll the fourth place, And reigne with the rest in heaven. Bring hether the Pincke and purple Cullambine, Bring Coronations, and Sops-in-wine Worne of Paramoures: Strowe me the ground with Daffadowndillies, And the Chevisaunce, Shall match with the fayre flowre Delice. Now ryse up, Elisa, deckèd as thou art And now ye daintie Damsells may depart I feare I have troubled your troupes to longe: And if you come hether When Damsines I gether, I will part them all you among. 81. CALME Prothalamion ALME was the day, and through the trembling ayre Sweete-breathing Zephyrus did softly play A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay Hot Titans beames, which then did glyster fayre; Through discontent of my long fruitlesse stay Like empty shaddowes, did afflict my brayne,) Along the shoare of silver streaming Themmes; And all the meades adornd with daintie gemmes And crowne their Paramours Against the Brydale day, which is not long: Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I end my Song. There, in a Meadow, by the Rivers side, And each one had a little wicker basket, In which they gathered flowers to fill their flasket, The tender stalkes on hye. Of every sort, which in that Meadow grew, The little Dazie, that at evening closes, To decke their Bridegromes posies Against the Brydale day, which was not long: Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I end my Song. With that I saw two Swannes of goodly hewe The snow, which doth the top of Pindus strew, Nor Jove himselfe, when he a Swan would be, Yet Leda was (they say) as white as he, So purely white they were, That even the gentle streame, the which them bare, That shone as heavens light, Against their Brydale day, which was not long: Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I end my Song. Eftsoones the Nymphes, which now had Flowers their fill, Ran all in haste to see that silver brood, As they came floating on the Christal Flood; Whom when they sawe, they stood amazèd still, Them seem'd they never saw a sight so fayre, Of Fowles, so lovely, that they sure did deeme Which through the Skie draw Venus silver Teeme; To be begot of any earthly Seede, But rather Angels, or of Angels breede; So fresh they seem'd as day, Even as their Brydale day, which was not long: Then forth they all out of their baskets drew That like old Peneus Waters they did seeme, Two of those Nymphes, meane while, two Garlands bound The which presenting all in trim Array, Their snowie Foreheads therewithall they crownd, Prepar'd against that Day, Against their Brydale day, which was not long: Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I end my Song. 'Ye gentle Birdes! the worlds faire ornament, Of your loves couplement; And let faire Venus, that is Queene of love, Let endlesse Peace your steadfast hearts accord, Which may your foes confound, And make your joyes redound Upon your Brydale day, which is not long: Sweete Themmes! runne softlie, till I end my Song." So ended she; and all the rest around Which said their brydale daye should not be long: So forth those joyous Birdes did passe along, And all the foule which in his flood did dwell And their best service lend Against their wedding day, which was not long: Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I end my Song. |