CALME was the day, and through the trembling ayre Sweete-breathing Zephyrus did softly play A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay Hot Titans beames, which then did glyster fayre; Through discontent of my long fruitlesse stay Along the shoare of silver streaming Themmes; And all the meades adornd with daintie gemmes And crowne their Paramours Against the Brydale day, which is not long: Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I end my Song. There, in a Meadow, by the Rivers side, And each one had a little wicker basket, In which they gathered flowers to fill their flasket, The tender stalkes on hye. Of every sort, which in that Meadow grew, The little Dazie, that at evening closes, To decke their Bridegromes posies Against the Brydale day, which was not long: Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I end my Song. With that I saw two Swannes of goodly hewe The snow, which doth the top of Pindus strew, Nor Jove himselfe, when he a Swan would be, Yet Leda was (they say) as white as he, That even the gentle streame, the which them bare, That shone as heavens light, Against their Brydale day, which was not long: Eftsoones the Nymphes, which now had Flowers their fill, As they came floating on the Christal Flood; Their wondring eyes to fill; Them seem'd they never saw a sight so fayre, Of Fowles, so lovely, that they sure did deeme Which through the Skie draw Venus silver Teeme; To be begot of any earthly Seede, But rather Angels, or of Angels breede; Yet were they bred of Somers-heat, they say, So fresh they seem'd as day, Even as their Brydale day, which was not long: Then forth they all out of their baskets drew That like old Peneus Waters they did seeme, Two of those Nymphes, meane while, two Garlands bound The which presenting all in trim Array, Their snowie Foreheads therewithall they crownd, Whil'st one did sing this Lay, Prepar'd against that Day, Against their Brydale day, which was not long: Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I end my Song. 'Ye gentle Birdes! the worlds faire ornament, Of your loves couplement; And let faire Venus, that is Queene of love, Let endlesse Peace your steadfast hearts accord, And make your joyes redound Upon your Brydale day, which is not long: Sweete Themmes! runne softlie, till I end my Song. So ended she; and all the rest around Which said their brydale daye should not be long: So forth those joyous Birdes did passe along, And all the foule which in his flood did dwell And their best service lend Against their wedding day, which was not long: Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I end my Song. At length they all to mery London came, There when they came, whereas those bricky towres Next whereunto there standes a stately place, Of that great Lord, which therein wont to dwell, Olde woes, but joyes, to tell Against the Brydale daye, which is not long: Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I end my Song. Yet therein now doth lodge a noble Peer, Great Englands glory, and the Worlds wide wonder, Whose dreadfull name late through all Spaine did thunder, And Hercules two pillors standing neere Did make to quake and feare: Faire branch of Honor, flower of Chevalrie! That fillest England with thy triumphes fame, Joy have thou of thy noble victorie, And endlesse happinesse of thine owne name That through thy prowesse, and victorious armes, Through al the world, fil'd with thy wide Alarmes, |