Breath you now, while Io Hymen
To the Bride we sing:
O how many joyes, and honors,
From this match will spring!
Ever firme the league will prove,
Where only goodnesse causeth love.
Some for profit seeke
What their fancies most disleeke:
These love for vertues sake alone:
Beautie and youth unite them both in one.

CHORUS.

Live with thy Bridegroome happy, sacred Bride;
How blest is he that is for love envi'd.

The Maskers second dance .

A Song .
1
Advance your Chorall motions now,
You musick-loving lights;
This night concludes the nuptiall vow,
Make this the best of nights:
So bravely Crowne it with your beames,
That it may live in fame,
As long as Rhenus or the Thames
Are knowne by either name.
2

Once move againe, yet nearer move
Your formes at willing view;
Such faire effects of joy and love

II Shepherdess .

Tell me Thirsis, tell your anguish,
Why you sigh, and why you languish;
When the nymph whom you adore
Grants the blessing of possessing,
What can love and I do more?
What can love, what can love and I do more? Shepherd .

Think it's love beyond all measure
Makes me faint away with pleasure;
Strength of cordial may destroy,
And the blessing of possessing
Kills me with excess of joy. Shepherdess .

Thirsis, how can I believe you?
But confess, and I'll forgive you.

The golden tresses of a ladie faire
At first beginning were of this my love:
But now at last unto my dubble care,
To be the end of my sad life I prove.
Then did my doubtfull spirit live in hope,
But now he feares, despairing as it were,
Because he doth perceive in sudden broke
His hope, which dying hart did helpe and beare:
Since that the Haire, that Alpha me did binde
In love, of life Omega I doo finde.

Whilst foming Steed I spurre unto the quicke,
To make him gallop to my Love amaine,
Love doth my thoughts (through fancy) forward prick,
The end of wished journey mine to gaine:
But light's his hurt, tis but a little smart;
Where mine is mortall, sounding to the hart.
Run then (my Gelding swift) like Pegasus ,
Flie hence with wings, for wings hath my desire;
Both of us (forst amaine) are forward thus,
And kindled in us is a burning fire:
Thou through two spurres in flanke provokd art sore,
But thousands inwardly my hart doo gore,

Fly to the desert, fly with me,
Our Arab tents are rude for thee;
But, oh! the choice what heart can doubt,
Of tents with love, or thrones without?

Our rocks are rough, but smiling there
The acacia waves her yellow hair,
Lonely and sweet, nor loved the less
For flowering in a wilderness.

Our sands are bare, but down their slope
The silvery-footed antelope
As gracefully and gaily springs
As o'er the marble court of kings.

Then come--thy Arab maid will be
The loved and lone acacia tree,

THE BLACK KNIGHT AND WAMBA

Anna-Marie, love, up is the sun,
Anna-Marie, love, morn is begun,
Mists are dispersing, love, birds singing free,
Up in the morning, love, Anna-Marie.

Anna-Marie, love, up in the morn,
The hunter is winding blithe sounds on his horn,
The echo rings merry from rock and from tree,
'T is time to arouse thee, love, Anna-Marie.

WAMBA

O Tybalt, love, Tybalt, awake me not yet,
Around my soft pillow while softer dreams flit;

Steer, hither steer, your winged pines,
All beaten mariners,
Here lie Love's undiscovered mines,
A prey to passengers;
Perfumes far sweeter than the best
Which make the Phoenix' urn and nest.
Fear not your ships,
Nor any to oppose you save our lips,
But come on shore,
Where no joy dies till love hath gotten more.

For swelling waves, our panting breasts
Where never storms arise,
Exchange; and be a while our guests:
For stars, gaze on our eyes.
The compass love shall hourly sing,
And as he goes about the ring,

The gem-like stars
Through fleecy bars
Send down their ambient light;
'Tis Splendor's reign,
Before her fane,
Each suppliant kneels to-night.

The tryst is o'er,
Yet what a store
Of love the maid doth hold.
The gift is fair
As moon-kissed air,
And bright as burnished gold.

Down in the dell,
A rose-gleam fell
From azure aisles of space;
There with light tread
A maiden sped,
Sweet yearning in her face.

Amid the sheen,
The lark, I ween,
Trilled love-lays to his mate;