EACH day of thine, sweet month of May,
Love makes a folemn holy-day.
I will perform like duty,
Sith thou resemblest every way
A firea, queen of beauty.
Both your fresh beauties do partake;
E ither's afpect doth summer make,
Thoughts of young love awaking;
Hearts you both do cause to ake,
And yet be pleas'd with aching.
Right dear art thou, and fo is fhe,
E 'en like attracting fympathy,
Gains unto both like dearness;
I ween this made antiquity,
Name thee, Sweet May of Majesty,
As being both like in clearness.
É ARLY cheerful mounting lark,
Light's gentle ufher, morning's clerk,
In merry notes delighting;
S tint awhile thy fong, and hark,
And learn my new inditing.
Bear up this hymn, to heav'n it bear,
E 'en up to heav'n, and fing it there,
To heav'n each morning bear it;
Have it set to some sweet sphere,
And let the angels hear it.
Renown'd Aftrea, that great name,
Exceeding great in worth and fame,
Great worth hath so renown'd it;
It is Aftrea's name I praise;
Now then, fweet lark, do thou it raife,
And in high heaven refound it.
Royal Aftrea makes our day
E ternal with her beams, nor may
Grofs darkness overcome her;
I now perceive why fome do write,
No country hath so short a night,
A s England hath in sunimer.
EYE of the garden, queen of flow'rs,
Love's cup wherein lie nectar's pow'rs,
I ngender'd first of nectar;
S weet nurfe-child of the spring's young hours,
And beauty's fair character.
B left jewel that the earth doth wear,
E 'n when the brave young fun draws near,
To her hot love pretending;
H imfelf likewife like form doth bear,
A t rifing and descending,
Rofe of the Queen of Love belov'd; England's great kings divinely mov'd, Gave roses in their banner;
It fhew'd that beauty's rofe indeed, Now in this age should them fucceed, A nd reign in more fwect manner.
HYMN VIII.
To all the Princes of Europes
EUROPE, the earth's sweet paradife;
Let all thy kings that would be wife,
In politic devotion,
Sail hither to obferve her eyes,
A nd mark her heav'nly motion.
Brave princess of this civil age,
Enter into this pilgrimage:
This faint's tongue's an oracle;
Her eye hath made a prince a page,
And works each day a miracle.
Raife but your looks to her, and fee
E 'en the true beams of majesty,
Great princes, mark her duly;
If all the world you do furvey,
No forchead fpreads fo bright a ray,
And notes a prince fo truly.
EMPRESS of flow'rs, tell where away
Lies your fweet court this May,
In Greenwich garden alleys:
Since there the heav'nly pow'rs do play
And haunt no other valleys.
HYMN XII.
To ber Picture.
EXTREME was his audacity,
Little his kill that finish'd thee;
I am afham d and forty,
So dull her counterfeit fhould be,
And fhe fo full of glory.
But here are colours red and white,
Each line, and each proportion right;
Thefe lines, this red and whiteness,
Have wanting yet a life and light,
A majefty, and brightness.
Rude counterfeit, I then did err;
Een now when I would needs infer
Great boldness in thy maker:
I did mistake, he was not bold,
N or durft his eyes her eyes behold,
And this made him mistake her.
E ARTH, now adieu, my ravish'd thought Lifted to heav'n fets thee at naught; Infinite is my longing,
ecrets of angels to be taught, And things to heav'n belonging.
Brought down from heav'n of angels kind
E 'en now I do admire her mind,
This is my contemplation,
Her clear sweet spirit which is refin'd, ¦
A bove human creation.
Rich fun-beam of th' eternal light,
Excellent Soul, how shall I write;
Good angels make me able;
I cannot fee but by your eye,
Nor, but by your tongue, fignify
A thing fo admirable..
HYMN XIV.
Of the Sun-beams of her Mind.
EXCEEDING glorious is the ftar,
Let us behold her beams afar
In a fide line reflected;
Sight bears them not, when near they are,
A nd in right lines directed.
Behold her in her virtue's beams,
Extending fun-like to all realms;
The fun none views too nearly:
Her well of goodness in the streams,
A ppears right well and clearly.
Beauty's crown though she do wear,
E xalted into Fortune's chair,
Thron'd like the queen of pleasure :
Her virtues ftill poffefs her ear,
A nd counsel her to measure.
Reafon, if the incarnate were,
E v'n Reafon's felf could never bear
Greatness with moderation;
In her one temper ftill is feen,
No liberty claims the as queen,
And shews no alteration.
ENVY, go weep; my Mufe and I Laugh thee to fcorn, thy feeble eye
I s dazzled with the glory
Shining in this gay poely,
And little golden story.
Behold how my proud quill doth fhed
Eternal nectar on her head:
The pomp of coronation
Hath not fuch pow'r her fame to spread,
As this my admiratión.
Respect my pen as free and frank
E xpecting not reward nor thank,
Great wonder only moves it;
I never made it 'mercenary,
N or fhould my Mufe this burthen carry
A s hir'd but that she loves it.
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