Classic Poem

Sing, Sing a Rapture to all Nuptiall eares,
Bright Hymens torches, drunke vp Parcaes teares:
Sweet Hymen; Hymen , Mightiest of Gods,
Attoning of all-taming blood the odds;
Two into One, contracting; One to Two
Dilating; which no other God can doe.
Mak'st sure, with change, and lett'st the married try,
Of Man and woman, the Variety.
And as a flower, halfe scorcht with daies long heate
Thirsts for refreshing, with Nights cooling sweate,
The wings of Zephire , fanning still her face,
No chere can ad to her heart-thirsty grace;
Yet weares she gainst those fires that make her fade,
Her thicke hayrs proofe, all hyd, in Mid-nights shade;
Her Helth, is all in dews; Hope, all in showres,
Whose want bewailde, she pines in all her powres:
So Loue-scorch't Virgines, nourish quenchles fires;
The Fathers cares; the Mothers kind desires.
Their Gould, and Garments, of the newest guise,
Can nothing comfort their scorcht Phantasies,
But, taken rauish't vp, in Hymens armes,
His Circkle holds, for all their anguish, charms:
Then, as a glad Graft, in the spring Sunne shines,
That all the helps, of Earth, and Heauen combines
In Her sweet grouth: Puts in the Morning on
Her cheerefull ayres; the Sunnes rich fires, at Noone;
At Euen the sweete deaws, and at Night with starrs,
In all their vertuous influences shares;
So, in the Bridegroomes sweet embrace; the Bride,
All varied Ioies tasts, in their naked pride:
To which the richest weedes; are weedes, to flowres;
Come Hymen then; come close these Nuptiall howres
With all yeares comforts. Come; each virgin keepes
Her odorous kisses for thee; Goulden sleepes
Will, in their humors, neuer steepe an eie,
Till thou inuit'st them with thy Harmony.
Why staiest thou? see each Virgin doth prepare
Embraces for thee; Her white brests laies bare
To tempt thy soft hand; let's such glances flie
As make starres shoote, to imitate her eye.
Puts Arts attires on, that put Natures doune:
Singes, Dances, sets on euery foote a Crowne,
Sighes, in her songs, and dances; kisseth Ayre
Till Rites, and words past, thou in deedes repaire;
The whole court Io sings: Io the Ayre:
Io, the flouds, and fields: Io, most faire,
Most sweet, most happy Hymen; Come: away;
With all thy Comforts come; old Matrons pray,
With young Maides Languors; Birds bill, build, and breed
To teach thee thy kinde, euery flowre & weed
Looks vp to gratulate thy long'd for fruites;
Thrice giuen, are free, and timely-granted suites:
There is a seed by thee now to be sowne,
In whose fruit Earth, shall see her glories show'n,
At all parts perfect; and must therefore loose
No minutes time; from times vse all fruite flowes;
And as the tender Hyacinth, that growes
Where Phoebus most his golden beames bestowes,
Is propt with care; is water'd euery howre;
The sweet windes adding their encreasing powre,
The scattered drops of Nights refreshing dew,
Hasting the full grace, of his glorious hew,
Which once disclosing, must be gatherd straight,
Or hew, and Odor both, will lose their height;
So, of a Virgine, high, and richly kept,
The grace and sweetnes full growne must be reap't,
Or, forth her spirits fly, in empty Ayre;
The sooner fading; the more sweete and faire.
Gentle, O Gentle Hymen , be not then
Cruell, That kindest art to Maids, and Men;
These two, One Twyn are; and their mutuall blisse,
Not in thy beames, but in thy Bosome is.
Nor can their hands fast, their harts ioyes make sweet;
Their harts, in brests are; and their Brests must meete.
Let, there be Peace, yet Murmur: and that noise,
Beget of peace, the Nuptiall battailes ioyes.
Let Peace grow cruell, and take wrake of all,
The warres delay brought thy full Festiuall.
Harke, harke, O now the sweete Twyn murmur sounds;
Hymen is come, and all his heate abounds;
Shut all Dores; None, but Hymens lights aduance;
No sound styr, let, dumb Ioy, enioy a trance.
Sing, sing a Rapture to all Nuptiall eares,
Bright Hymens Torches drunke vp Parcaes teares.