Raising of the Bride.
But now, to Thee, faire Bride, it is some wrong,
To thinke thou wert in Bed so long,
140Since Soone thou lyest downe first, tis fit
Thou in first rising should'st allow for it.
Pouder thy Radiant haire,
Which if without such ashes thou would'st weare,
Thou, which to all which come to looke upon,
145Art meant for Phœbus, would'st be Phaëton.
For our ease, give thine eyes th'unusual part