Pillars let some set up
If so they please:
Here is my hope
And my Pyramides.
212. SAFETY ON THE SHORE.
What though the sea be calm? Trust to the shore,
Ships have been drown'd where late they danc'd before.
213. A PASTORAL UPON THE BIRTH OF PRINCE
CHARLES. PRESENTED TO THE KING, AND SET BY
MR. NIC. LANIERE.
The Speakers, Mirtillo, Amintas and Amarillis.
Amin. Good-day, Mirtillo. Mirt. And to you no less,
And all fair signs lead on our shepherdess.
Amar. With all white luck to you. Mirt. But say, what news
Stirs in our sheep-walk? Amin. None, save that my ewes,
My wethers, lambs, and wanton kids are well,
Smooth, fair and fat! none better I can tell:
Or that this day Menalcas keeps a feast
For his sheep-shearers. Mirt. True, these are the least;
But, dear Amintas and sweet Amarillis,
Rest but a while here, by this bank of lilies,
And lend a gentle ear to one report
The country has. Amin. From whence? Amar. From whence? Mirt. The Court.
Three days before the shutting in of May
(With whitest wool be ever crown'd that day!)
To all our joy a sweet-fac'd child was born,
More tender than the childhood of the morn.
Chor. Pan pipe to him, and bleats of lambs and sheep
Let lullaby the pretty prince asleep!
Mirt. And that his birth should be more singular
At noon of day was seen a silver star,
Bright as the wise men's torch which guided them
To God's sweet babe, when born at Bethlehem;
While golden angels (some have told to me)
Sung out his birth with heavenly minstrelsy.
Amin. O rare! But is't a trespass if we three
Should wend along his babyship to see?
Mirt. Not so, not so.
Chor. But if it chance to prove
At most a fault, 'tis but a fault of love.
Amar. But, dear Mirtillo, I have heard it told
Those learned men brought incense, myrrh and gold
From countries far, with store of spices sweet,
And laid them down for offerings at his feet.
Mirt. 'Tis true, indeed; and each of us will bring
Unto our smiling and our blooming king
A neat, though not so great an offering.
Amar. A garland for my gift shall be
Of flowers ne'er suck'd by th' thieving bee;
And all most sweet; yet all less sweet than he.
Amin. And I will bear, along with you,
Leaves dropping down the honeyed dew,
With oaten pipes as sweet as new.
Mirt. And I a sheep-hook will bestow,
To have his little kingship know,
As he is prince, he's shepherd too.
Chor. Come, let's away, and quickly let's be dress'd,
And quickly give—the swiftest grace is best.
And when before him we have laid our treasures,
We'll bless the babe, then back to country pleasures.
White, favourable.
214. TO THE LARK.
Good speed, for I this day
Betimes my matins say:
Because I do
Begin to woo,
Sweet-singing lark,
Be thou the clerk,
And know thy when
To say, Amen.
And if I prove
Bless'd in my love,
Then thou shalt be
High-priest to me,
At my return,
To incense burn;
And so to solemnise
Love's and my sacrifice.