Xxvii

But see, the Virgin blest Hath laid her Babe to rest; Time is our tedious song should here have ending; Heaven’s youngest-teemèd star Hath fixed her polished car, Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending; And all about the courtly stable Bright-harnessed angels sit in order serviceable.

HERE ENDS THIS POEM: TRULY BY ITS SONG OUR NOBLE POET HAS ENLARGED OUR JOY. AS HE HAS WRITTEN,__

“Of music, and ethereal mirth Wherewith the stage of Air and Earth did ring, And joyous news of heavenly Infant’s birth My muse with Angels did divide to sing.”