Tityrus.
Poor world (said I), what wilt thou doe
To entertain this starry Stranger?
Is this the best thou canst bestow?
A cold, and not too cleanly, manger?40
Contend, the powres of Heau'n and Earth,
To fitt a bed for this huge birthe?
Chorus. Contend the powers.
Thyrsis.
Proud world, said I, cease your contest
And let the mighty Babe alone.45
The phænix builds the phænix' nest,
Lov's architecture is his own.
The Babe whose birth embraues this morn,
Made His Own bed e're He was born.
Chorus. The Babe whose....50
Tityrus.
I saw the curl'd drops, soft and slow,
Come houering o're the place's head;
Offring their whitest sheets of snow
To furnish the fair Infant's bed:
Forbear, said I; be not too bold,55
Your fleece is white but 'tis too cold.
Chorus. Forbear, sayd I.