Of her, ye virgins, learn obedience,
When so ye come into those holy places,
To humble your proud faces:

Bring her up to the high altar, that she may
The sacred ceremonies there partake,
The which do endless matrimony make;
And let the roaring organs loudly play
The praises of the Lord in lively notes

The whiles, with hollow throats,

The choristers with joyous anthems sing,

That all the woods may answer, and their echo ring.

Behold, whiles she before the altar stands,
Hearing the holy priest that to her speaks,
And blesseth her with his two happy hands,
How the red roses flush up in her cheeks,
And the pure snow, with goodly vermeil stain,
Like crimson dyed in grain;

That even the angels, which continually
About the sacred altar do remain,

Forget their service, and about her fly,

Oft peeping in her face, that seems more fair,
The more they on it stare.

But her sad eyes, still fastened on the ground,
Are governed with goodly modesty,

That suffers not one look to glance awry,

Which may let in a little thought unsound.

Why blush ye, love, to give to me your hand,

The pledge of all our band?

Sing, ye sweet angels, alleluja sing,

That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring.