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A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy belt of straw and ivy-buds, Thy coral clasps and amber studs, All these in me no means can move To come to thee, and be thy love.
What should we talk of dainties then,
But could youth last and love still breed,
PISC. Well sung, good woman; thank you. I'll give you another dish of fish one of these days, and then beg another song of you. Come, scholar, let Maudlin alone; do not you offer to spoil her voice. Look, yonder comes mine hostess, to call us to supper. How now? Is my brother Peter come?
HOST. Yes, and a friend with him, they are both glad to hear that you are in these parts, and long to see you, and long to be at supper, for they be very hungry.
HYMN ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY
Ir was the winter wilde,
While the Heav'n-born-childe,
All meanly wrapt in the rude manger
lies; Nature in aw to him
Had doff't her gawdy trim,
With her great Master so to sympathize: It was no season then for her
To wanton with the sun her lusty para
Only with speeches fair She woo's the gentle air
To hide her guilty front with innocent
And on her naked shame,
Pollute with sinfull blame,
The saintly vail of maiden white to throw,
Confounded, that her Makers eyes Should look so neer upon her foul deformities.
But he her fears to cease,
Sent down the meek-eyd Peace:
She crown'd with olive green, came softly
Down through the turning sphear
With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing,
And waving wide her mirtle wand, She strikes a universall peace through sea and land.
No war, or battails sound
The idle spear and shield were high up hung;
The hooked chariot stood
The trumpet spake not to the armèd throng,
And kings sate still with awfull eye, As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by.
But peacefull was the night
His raign of peace upon the earth began:
Whispering new joyes to the milde
Who now hath quite forgot to rave,
The Stars with deep amaze
Bending one way their pretious influence,
And Heav'n as at som festivall, Will open wide the gates of her high palace hall.
But wisest Fate sayes no,
The Babe lies yet in smiling infancy,
So both himself and us to glorifie :
With such a horrid clang
While the red fire, and smouldring clouds out brake:
The agèd Earth agast
With terrour of that blast,
Shall from the surface to the center
When at the worlds last session,
The dreadfull Judge in middle air shall spread his throne.
And then at last our bliss
Full and perfect is,
A voice of weeping heard, and loud lament;
From haunted spring, and dale
The parting Genius is with sighing sent, With flowre-inwov'n tresses torn
The nimphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.
In consecrated earth,
The Lars, and Lemures moan with midnight plaint,
In urns, and altars round,
Affrights the flamins at their service quaint;
And the chill marble seems to sweat, While each peculiar power forgoes his wonted seat.
Peor, and Baalim,
Forsake their temples dim,
With that twise-batter'd god of Palestine,
And moonèd Ashtaroth,
Heav'ns queen and mother both,
Now sits not girt with tapers holy shine,
But now begins; for from this happy The Libyc Hammon shrinks his horn,
Th'old Dragon under ground
In straiter limits bound,
In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thamuz mourn.
Not half so far casts his usurpèd And sullen Moloch fled,