II.
Is it, sweet maid, your fault these holy
Bridal rites go on so slowly?
Dear, is it this you dread
The loss of maidenhead?
Believe me, you will most
Esteem it when 'tis lost;
Then it no longer keep,
Lest issue lie asleep.
Then, away; come, Hymen, guide
To the bed the bashful bride.
III.
These precious, pearly, purling tears
But spring from ceremonious fears.
And 'tis but native shame
That hides the loving flame,
And may a while control
The soft and am'rous soul;
But yet love's fire will waste
Such bashfulness at last.
Then, away; come, Hymen, guide
To the bed the bashful bride.
IV.
Night now hath watch'd herself half blind,
Yet not a maidenhead resign'd!
'Tis strange, ye will not fly
To love's sweet mystery.
Might yon full moon the sweets
Have, promised to your sheets,
She soon would leave her sphere,
To be admitted there.
Then, away; come, Hymen, guide
To the bed the bashful bride.
V.
On, on devoutly, make no stay;
While Domiduca leads the way,
And Genius, who attends
The bed for lucky ends.
With Juno goes the Hours
And Graces strewing flowers.
And the boys with sweet tunes sing:
Hymen, O Hymen, bring
Home the turtles; Hymen, guide
To the bed the bashful bride.
VI.
Behold! how Hymen's taper-light
Shows you how much is spent of night.
See, see the bridegroom's torch
Half wasted in the porch.
And now those tapers five,
That show the womb shall thrive,
Their silv'ry flames advance,
To tell all prosp'rous chance
Still shall crown the happy life
Of the goodman and the wife.