The History of Polindor and Flostella With Other Poems. By I. H. [i.e. John Harington] The third Edition, Revised and much Enlarged |
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The Goodmorrow.
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 | The History of Polindor and Flostella |  |
The Goodmorrow.
Fairest, fair Goodmorrow from
Thy Servant Voyce and Lute present;
Lo, Day's glorious Prince (Brides-groom
To th' Morn) is up, for progress bent;
Bounteous, gracious in his Rayes,
Th' Worlds bright influentiall Show'r,
Though I stand Frozen here this hour,
Till thou (my sweetest Sun) do'st Blaze.
Thy Servant Voyce and Lute present;
Lo, Day's glorious Prince (Brides-groom
To th' Morn) is up, for progress bent;
Bounteous, gracious in his Rayes,
Th' Worlds bright influentiall Show'r,
Though I stand Frozen here this hour,
Till thou (my sweetest Sun) do'st Blaze.
Plumed Songsters chant to th' eares,
Earth and Heaven smiles combine;
Pleas'd whole Natures Cheek appears,
O do not Thou unpleasing Shine:
Lovers (often) their bad dayes
Prove, and good; last night my Sun
Did set in lowring Clouds, Night done,
O let her Rise more gently, Blaze.
Earth and Heaven smiles combine;
Pleas'd whole Natures Cheek appears,
O do not Thou unpleasing Shine:
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Prove, and good; last night my Sun
Did set in lowring Clouds, Night done,
O let her Rise more gently, Blaze.
May those Dewy slumbers, steep't
Her fair Eyes sunk down to th' Heart
Have soften'd that, what time she slept;
The like might Pillow's Down impart,
Mollisie both Head and Brain:
Break forth sweetly'st, O my Sun,
Thy Casements glassie East, nor shun
This Morning-sacrifice, as vain.
Her fair Eyes sunk down to th' Heart
Have soften'd that, what time she slept;
The like might Pillow's Down impart,
Mollisie both Head and Brain:
Break forth sweetly'st, O my Sun,
Thy Casements glassie East, nor shun
This Morning-sacrifice, as vain.
Or if Couched still my Fair,
Might this Lute, Voyce lull thee yet
Gentler, breed Morn slumbers rare;
So, keep till Noon thy Blazing fit;
When for Light, warmth I've design'd
Short visit, O look Beamy, cleer,
That I may Vaunt my dearest Dear
Wak'd Gentle, though she slept unkind.
Might this Lute, Voyce lull thee yet
Gentler, breed Morn slumbers rare;
So, keep till Noon thy Blazing fit;
When for Light, warmth I've design'd
Short visit, O look Beamy, cleer,
That I may Vaunt my dearest Dear
Wak'd Gentle, though she slept unkind.
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