The BRIDE in the person of the BRIDEGROOME.
SONET VIII.
1
Harke, harke, me thinks I heare my true love say
Breake downe that envious bar & come away,
Arise (my dearest Spouse) and dispossesse
Thy soule of doubtfull feares, nor overpresse
Thy tender spirits, with the dull despaire
Of thy demerits: (Love) thou art as faire,
As Earth will suffer: Time will make thee clearer,
Come forth (my love) then whom, my life's not dearer.
2
Come forth (my joy,) what bold affront of fear
Can fright thy soule, & I, thy Champion here
'Tis I that call, 'tis I, thy Bridegroome, calls thee,
Betide it me, what ever evill befalls thee:
The winter of thy sharpe Afflictions gone:
Why fear'st thou cold, and art so neare the Sunne
I am thy Sunne, if thou be cold, draw nearer:
Come forth (my Love) then whō my life's not dearer
3
Come forth (my dear) the spring of joyes invite thee,
The
flowers contend for beautie to delight thee
Their sweet ambition's onely, which might be
Most sweet, most faire, because most like to thee:
The
Birds (sweet Heralds of so sweet a Spring)
Warble high notes, and Hymeneans sing:
All sing, with joy, t'enjoy so sweet a Hearer:
Come forth (my love) thē whō my life's not dearer.
4
The prosperous
Vlne, which this deare hand did plant
Tenders due service to so sweet a Saint:
Her hidden Clusters swell with sacred pride,
To
kisse the lips of so, so faire a Bride:
Of asqu'd in their leafes, they lurke, fearing to be
Discryde by any, till first seene by thee:
The clouds are past, the heavens cannot be clearer
Come forth (dear love) thē whō my lif's not dearer.
5
My Dove, whō daily
dangers teach new shifts,
That like a Dove, dost haunt the secret clifts
Of solitary Rockes: How e're thou be
Reserv'd from others, be not strange to me,
Call me to rescue, and this brawnie Arme
Shall quell thy Foe, & fence thy soule, from harme;
Speake (Love,) Thy voice is sweet; what if thy face,
Be drencht with teares; each teare's a several grace.
6
All you that wish prosperity and peace,
To crowne our contract, with a long encrease
Of future joyes, O shield my simple Love
From those that seeke her ruine, and remov
The base Opposers of her best designes;
Destroy the Foxes, that destroy her Vines;
Her Vines are fruitfull, but her tender grapes
Are spoil'd by Foxes, clad in humane shapes.
