Epithalamion

Early, before the world's light-giving lamp,
His golden beam upon the hills doth spread,
Having dispersed the night's uncheerful damp,
Do ye awake and with fresh lusty head,
Go to the bower of my beloved love,
My truest turtle dove:
Bid her awake; for Hymen is awake.

Bring with you all the nymphes that you can heare,
Both of the rivers and the forrests greene,
And of the sea that neighbours to her neare,
All with gay girlands goodly wel beseene. 
And let them also with them bring in hand
Another gay girland,
For my fayre Love, of lillyes and of roses,
Bound truelove wize with a blew silke riband.
And let them make great store of bridale poses, 
And let them eke bring store of other flowers,
To deck the bridale bowers:
 ... 
Which done, doe at her chamber dore awayt,
For she will waken strayt;
The whiles do ye this song unto her sing,
The woods shall to you answer, and your eccho ring.

Wake now, my Love, awake! for it is time:
 ... 
Hark! how the cheerefull birds do chaunt theyr laies,
And carroll of Loves praise:
The merry larke hir mattins sings aloft; 
The thrush replyes; the mavis descant playes;
The ouzell shrills; the ruddock warbles soft;
So goodly all agree, with sweet consent,
To this dayes meriment.
Ah! my deere Love, why doe ye sleepe thus long, 
When meeter were that ye should now awake,
T'awayt the comming of your ioyous make,
And hearken to the birds love-learned song,
The deawy leaves among!
For they of ioy and pleasance to you sing, 
That all the woods them answer, and theyr eccho ring.

Now is my love all ready forth to come:
Let all the virgins therefore well await:
And ye fresh boys that tend upon her groom
Prepare yourselves; for he is coming straight.
Set all your things in seemly good array
Fit for so joyful day:
The joyfulst day that ever sun did see.
Fair Sun, show forth thy favourable ray,
And let thy liful heat not fervent be
For fear of burning her sunshiny face,
Her beauty to disgrace.
O fairest Phoebus! father of the Muse!
If ever I did honour thee aright,
Or sing the thing that mote thy mind delight,
Do not thy servant's simple boon refuse,
But let this day, let this one day be mine,
Let all the rest be thine.
Then I thy sovereign praises loud will sing,
That all the woods shall answer and their echo ring.

Hark how the Minstrels ‘gin to shrill aloud,
Their merry music that resounds from far,
The pipe, the tabor, and the trembling Crowd,
That well agree withouten breach or jar.
But most of all the damsels do delight,
When they their timbrels smite,
And there unto do dance and carol sweet,
That all the senses they do ravish quite,
The whiles the boys run up and down the street,
Crying aloud with strong confusèd noise,
As if it were one voice. 
Hymen, Io Hymen, Hymen they do shout.

Lo! where she comes along with portly pace,
like Phoebe from her chamber of the east,
Arising forth to run her mighty race,
Clad all in white, that seems a virgin best.
So well it her beseems that ye would ween
Some angel she had been.
Her long loose yellow locks like golden wire,
Sprinkled with pearl, and pearling flowers atween,
Do like a golden mantle her attire,
And being crowned with a garland green,
seem like some maiden Queen...

Tell me ye merchants' daughters did ye see
So fair a creature in your town before,
So sweet, so lovely, and so mild as she, 
Adorned with beauty's grace and virtue's store?

Open the temple gates unto my love,
Open them wide that she may enter in,
And let the roaring organs loudly play
The praises of the Lord in lively notes,
The whiles with hollow throats,
The Choristers the joyful anthem sing.

 ... 
Sing ye sweet angels, Alleluia
That all the woods them answer, and their echo ring.

Now all is done; bring home the bride again,
bring home the triumph of our victory,
Bring home with you the glory of her gain,
With joyance bring her and with jollity.
Never had man more joyfull day then this,
Whom Heaven would heap with bliss.
Make feast therefore now all this live long day,
This day for ever to me holy is,
Pour out the wine without restraint or stay,
Pour not by cups, but by the bellyful,
Pour out to all that will,
And sprinkle all the posts and walls with wine,
That they may sweat, and drunken be withall.
Crown ye God Bacchus with a coronal,
And Hymen also crown with wreaths of vine,
And let the Graces dance unto the rest;
For they can do it best:
The whiles the maidens do their carrol sing, 
To which the woods shall answer and their echo ring.

Ring ye the bells, ye young men of the Town,
And leave your wonted labours for this day.
This day is holy; Do ye write it down,
that ye for ever it remember may.
...
Ring ye the bells, to make it wear away,
And bonfires make all day,
And dance about them, and about them sing:
that all the woods may answer, and your echo ring.

Ah! When will this long weary day have end,
and lend me leave to come unto my love? 
How slowly do the hours their numbers spend?
How slowly does sad Time his feathers move?
Haste thee O fairest Planet to thy home
Within the Western foam:
Thy tired steeds long since have need of rest.
Long tho‘ it be, at last I see it gloom,
And the bright evening star with golden crest
Appear out of the East.
Fair child of beauty, glorious lamp of love
That all the host of Heaven in ranks dost lead,  
And guidest lovers thro‘ the night's sad dread,
How cheerfully thou lookest from above,
And seem‘st to laugh atween thy twinkling light
As joying in the sight
Of these glad many which for joy do sing,
That all the woods them answer and their echo ring.

Now welcome night! thou night so long expected,
That long day's labour dost at last defray,
And all my cares, which cruel love collected,
Hast summed in one, and cancellèd for aye:
Spread thy broad wing over my love and me,   
that no man may us see,
And in thy sable mantle us enwrap,
From fear of peril and foul horror free.

But let still Silence true night watches keep,
That sacred peace may in assurance reign,
And timely sleep, when it is time to sleep,
May pour his limbs forth on your pleasant plain.

The whiles an hundred little wingèd loves,
Like divers fethered doves,
Shall fly and flutter round about your bed,    
And in the secret dark, that none reproves
Their pretty stealths shall work, and snares shall spread
To filch away sweet snatches of delight,
Concealed through covert night.

And thou, great Iuno! which with awful might 
The lawes of wedlock still dost patronize,
And the religion of the faith first plight
With sacred rites hast taught to solemnize,
 ... 
Eternally bind thou this lovely band,
And all thy blessings unto us impart.
 ... 

Then I thy sovereign praises loud will sing,
That all the woods shall answer and their echo ring.