Now ceasse, ye damsels, your delights fore-past; Enough it is that all the day was youres: Now day is doen, and night is nighing fast; Now bring the bryde into the brydall bowres. The night is come; now soon her disaray, And in her bed her lay; Lay her in lillies and in violets, And silken curteins over her display, And odourd sheets, and Arras coverlets. Behold how goodly my faire Love does ly, In proud humility! Like unto Maia, when as Iove her took In Tempe, lying on the flowry gras, Twixt sleepe and wake, after she weary was With bathing in the Acidalian brooke. Now it is night, ye damsels may be gone, And leave my Love alone, And leave likewise your former lay to sing: The woods no more shall answer, nor your eccho ring.
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Confirmed with The Poetical Works of Edmund Spenser, Volume V, edited by Francis J. Child, London: Imprinted for William Ponsonbie, dwelling in Paules Churchyard at the Signe of the Bishops Head, 1591.
- by Edmund Spenser (1552 - 1599), no title, appears in Epithalamion, no. 17 [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)
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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
Text added to the website: 2020-01-12 00:00:00
Last modified: 2020-01-12 11:52:45
Line count: 19
Word count: 138