The Country, too, eene chops for rayne:
You that exhale it by your pow'r,
Let the fatt drops fall downe again
In a full show'r.
And you, bright beautyes of the time,
That spend your selves here in a blaze,
Fixe to your Orbe and proper Clime
Your wandring Rayes.
Lett no dark corner of the Land
Bee unimbellisht with one Gemme,
And those which here too thick doe stand
Sprinkle on them.
And, trust mee, Ladyes, you will find
In that sweet life more sollid joyes,
More true contentment to the minde,
Then all Towne-Toyes.
Nor Cupid there less blood doth spill,
Butt heads his shafts with chaster love,
Not feath'red with a Sparrow's quill
Butt of a Dove.
There may you heare the Nightingale,
The harmeless Syren of the wood,
How prettily shee tells a tale
Of rape and blood.
Plant trees you may and see them shoot
Up with your Children, to bee serv'd
To your cleane Board, and the fayr'st fruite
To bee preserved;
And learne to use their sev'rall gumms.
Tis innocente in the sweet blood
Of Cherrys, Apricocks and Plumms
To bee imbru'd.
[235] The Galliard, a lively French dance described in Sir John Davies' Orchestra (st. 67).
[236] Sc. good-bye. Cf. Shirley's Constant Maid, i. 1, "Buoy, Close, buoy, honest Close: we are blanks, blanks."