A Masque As it was Presented at Court before King James 1619

The Scene was the Mountaine

ATLAS

Who had his top ending in the figure of an old man, his head
and beard all hoary, and frost, as if his shoulders were covered
with snow; the rest Wood, and Rocke. A Grove of Ivie at his feet;
out of which, to a wilde Musicke of Cymbals, Flutes, and Tabers is
brought forth , COMUS the God of Cheere, or the Belly, riding in

Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers?
O, sweet content!
Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplexed?
O, punishment!
Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vexed
To add to golden numbers golden numbers?
O, sweet content! O, sweet, O sweet content!

Work apace, apace, apace, apace;
Honest labour bears a lovely face;
Then hey nonny, hey nonny, nonny!

Canst drink the waters of the crisped spring?
O, sweet content!
Swimm'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in thine own tears?
O, punishment!

Golden slumbers kiss your eyes,
Smiles awake you when you rise.
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby:
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.

Care is heavy, therefore sleep you;
You are care, and care must keep you.
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby:
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.

Beauty, arise, show forth thy glorious shining!
Thine eyes feed love, for them he standeth pining;
Honour and youth attend to their duty
To thee, their only sovereign, Beauty.
Beauty, arise, whilst we, thy servants, sing
Io to Hymen, wedlock's jocund king.
Io to Hymen, Io, Io, sing,
Of wedlock, love, and youth, is Hymen king.

Beauty, arise, thy glorious lights display,
Whilst we sing Io, glad to see this day.
Io to Hymen, Io, Io, sing,
Of wedlock, love, and youth, is Hymen king.

ST UNCUMBER and St Trunnion
At St Botolph and St Anne of Buxton,
On the hills of Armenia where I saw Noe's Ark
With holy Job and St George in Southwark;
At Waltham and at Walsingham;
And at the good Rood at Dagenham
At St Cornelys; at St James in Gales
And at St Winifred's Well in Wales;
At our Lady of Boston; at St Edmundsbury
And straight to St Patrick's Purgatory;
At Redburne and at the Blood of Hales
Where pilgrims' pains right much avails;
At St David's and at St Denis,
At St Matthew and St Mark in Venice,

Who knows the heart of the Christian? How does he reason?
What are his measures and balances? Which is his season
For laughter, forbearance or bloodshed, and what devils move him
When he arises to smite us? I do not love him.

He invites the derision of strangers — he enters all places.
Booted, bareheaded he enters. With shouts and embraces
He asks of us news of the household whom we reckon nameless.
Certainly Allah created him forty-fold shameless!

So it is not in the Desert. One came to me weeping —

They burnt a corpse upon the sand —
The light shone out afar;
It guided home the plunging dhows
That beat from Zanzibar.
Spirit of Fire, where'er Thy altars rise,
Thou art the Light of Guidance to our eyes!
In Error .

Little Blind Fish, thou art marvellous wise!
Little Blind Fish, who put out thy eyes?
Open thy ears while I whisper my wish.
Bring me a lover, thou little Blind Fish!
The Bisara of Pooree .

While the snaffle holds or the long-neck stings,
While the big beam tilts or the last bell rings,
While horses are horses to train and to race,
Then women and wine take a second place
For me — for me —
While a short " ten-three "
Has a field to squander or fence to face.
The Broken-Link Handicap .

Pleasant it is for the Little Tin Gods
When great Jove nods;
But Little Tin Gods make their little mistakes
In missing the hour when great Jove wakes.
A Germ-Destroyer .