Y tomb, arms, statue, all things fit to | And so 'tis kept. Not thy thrice-sacred fall foot of Death, and worship funeral, rm hath bestow'd; for form is nought too dear y solid virtues yet, eternized here, blood and wasted spirits have only found mmanded cost, and broke so rich a ground, ot to inter, but make thee ever spring, will, To all times future this time's mark extend, arms, tombs, statues, every earthy Homer no patron found, nor Chapman thing, all fade and vanish into fume before. That lasts thrives least; yet wealth of soul is poor, friend. Ignotus nimis omnibus, Sat notus, moritur sibi A HYMN TO HYMEN FOR THE MOST TIME-FITTED NUPTIAL OF OUR THRICE-GRACIOUS PRINCESS, ELIZABETH.† SING, sing a rapture to all nuptial ears, Bright Hymen's torches, drunk up Parcæ's tears. Sweet Hymen, Hymen, mightiest of Gods, Atoning of all-taming blood the odds; Two into one contracting; one to two Dilating, which no other God can do. Makest sure, with change, and lett'st the married try, Of man and woman, the variety. And as a flower, half scorch'd with day's long heat. Thirsts for refreshing, with night's cooling sweat, The wings of Zephyr, fanning still her face, No cheer can add to her heart thirsty grace; * Prefixed to "A Woman is a Weather-cocke, A New Comedy, Written by Nat. Field. Lond., 1612." Field, as we learn from the Prologue to the posthumous edition, performed the part of the hero with great spirit in Chapman's Bussy D'Ambois.-ED. In her sweet growth: puts in the morning + Printed at the end of Chapman's "Masque Her cheerful airs; the sun's rich fires, of the Middle Temple, 1613." noon; even the sweet dews, and at night with At all parts perfect; and must therefore stars, all their virtuous influences shares ; in the bridegroom's sweet embrace, the bride varied joys tastes, in their naked pride; which the richest weeds are weeds to flowers; ne Hymen, then; come, close these nuptial hours h all years' comforts. Come; each virgin keeps odorous kisses for thee. Golden sleeps , in their humours, never steep an eye, thou invitest them with thy harmony. stay'st thou ? see each virgin doth prepare races for thee; her white breasts lays bare empt thy soft hand; lets such glances fly ake stars shoot, to imitate her eye. Art's attires on, that put Nature's down; s, dances, sets on every foot a crown, s in her songs and dances; kisseth air lose, No minute's time; from time's use all fruit flows; And as the tender hyacinth, that grows Where Phoebus most his golden beams bestows, Is propt with care; is water'd every hour, The sweet winds adding their increasing power, The scatter'd drops of night's refreshing dew, Hasting the full grace of his glorious hue, Which once disclosing, must be gather'd straight, Or hue and odour both will lose their height; So, of a virgin, high, and richly kept, The grace and sweetness full grown must he reap'd, Or forth her spirits fly, in empty air; The sooner fading, the more sweet and fair. Gentle, O gentle Hymen, be not then Cruel, that kindest art to maids, and men ; These two, one twin are; and their mutual bliss Not in thy beams, but in thy bosom is. Nor can their hands fast, their hearts' joys make sweet; Their hearts, in breasts are; and their breasts must meet. Let there be peace, yet murmur; and that noise Beget of peace the nuptial battle's joys. Let peace grow cruel; and take wrack of all, The war's delay brought thy full festival. Hark, hark, O now the sweet twin murmur sounds; Hymen is come, and all his heat abounds; Shut all doors; none but Hymen's lights advance. OL. U. N |