Lxviii

Most glorious Lord of lyfe! that on this day Didst make thy triumph over death and sin, And, having harrowd* hell, didst bring away Captivity thence captive, us to win, This ioyous day, dear Lord, with ioy begin; And grant that we, for whom thou diddest dy, Being with thy deare blood clene washt from sin, May live for ever in felicity; And that thy love we weighing worthily, May likewise love thee for the same againe, And for thy sake, that all lyke deare didst buy, With love may one another entertayne! So let us love, deare Love, lyke as we ought: Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught. [* Harrowd, despoiled.]

LXIX.

The famous warriors of the anticke world Us’d trophees to erect in stately wize, In which they would the records have enrold Of theyr great deeds and valorous emprize. What trophee then shall I most fit devize, In which I may record the memory Of my loves conquest, peerlesse beauties prise, Adorn’d with honour, love, and chastity! Even this verse, vowd to eternity, Shall be thereof immortall moniment, And tell her praise to all posterity, That may admire such worlds rare wonderment; The happy purchase of my glorious spoile, Gotten at last with labour and long toyle.

LXX.

Fresh Spring, the herald of loves mighty king, In whose cote-armour richly are displayd All sorts of flowres the which on earth do spring, In goodly colours gloriously arrayd, Goe to my Love, where she is carelesse layd, Yet in her winters bowre not well awake: Tell her the ioyous time wil not be staid, Unlesse she doe him by the forelock take; Bid her therefore her selfe soone ready make, To wayt on Love amongst his lovely crew, Where every one that misseth then her make* Shall be by him amearst with penance dew. Make haste therefore, sweet Love, while it is prime**; For none can call againe the passed time. [* Make, mate.] [** Prime, spring.]

LXXI.

I ioy to see how, in your drawen work, Your selfe unto the Bee ye doe compare, And me unto the Spyder, that doth lurke In close awayt, to catch her unaware. Right so your selfe were caught in cunning snare Of a deare foe, and thralled to his love; In whose streight bands ye now captived are So firmely, that ye never may remove. But as your worke is woven all about With woodbynd flowers and fragrant eglantine, So sweet your prison you in time shall prove, With many deare delights bedecked fyne: And all thensforth eternall peace shall see Betweene the Spyder and the gentle Bee.

LXXII.

Oft when my spirit doth spred her bolder winges, In mind to mount up to the purest sky, It down is weighd with thought of earthly things, And clogd with burden of mortality: Where, when that soverayne beauty it doth spy, Resembling heavens glory in her light, Drawn with sweet pleasures bayt it back doth fly, And unto heaven forgets her former flight. There my fraile fancy, fed with full delight, Doth bathe in blisse, and mantleth most at ease; Ne thinks of other heaven, but how it might Her harts desire with most contentment please. Hart need not wish none other happinesse, But here on earth to have such hevens blisse.