CANDLEMAS EVE.

Down with the rosemary and bays,
Down with the misletoe ;
Instead of holly, now up-raise
The greener box, for show.

The holly. hitherto did sway;
Let box now domineer,
Until the dancing Easter-day,

Or Easter's eve appear.

Then youthful box, which now hath grace
Your houses to renew,

Grown old, surrender must his place
Unto the crispèd yew.

When yew is out, then birch comes in,

And many flowers beside,

Both of a fresh and fragrant kin,

To honour Whitsuntide.

Green rushes then, and sweetest bents,

With cooler oaken boughs,

Come in for comely ornaments,

To re-adorn the house.

Thus times do shift; each thing his turn does hold; New things succeed, as former things grow old.

THE NIGHT PIECE.

Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee,
The shooting stars attend thee;

And the elves also,

Whose little eyes glow

Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.

No Will-o'th'-Wisp mis-light thee,
Nor snake or slow-worm bite thee;
But on, on thy way,

Not making a stay,

Since ghost there's none to affright thec.

Let not the dark thee cumber;

What though the moon does slumber?
The stars of the night

Will lend thee their light,

Like tapers clear, without number.

Then, Julia, let me woo thee,

Thus, thus to come unto me;
And when I shall meet
Thy silvery feet,

My soul I'll pour into thee.

TO THE VIRGINS.

Gather ye rose-buds while ye may:
Old Time is still a-flying;

And this same flower that smiles to-day,
To-morrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the Sun,
The higher he's a-getting,

The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.

That age is best, which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times, "still succeed the former.
-Then be not coy, but use your time,

And while ye may, go marry;
For having lost but once your prime,
You may for ever tarry.

TO BLOSSOMS. *

Fair pledges of a fruitful tree,

Why do ye fall so fast?

Your date is not so past,

That Inly Here
mote it look!
↓
Was he an
old maid?

But you may stay yet here a-while,

To blush and gently smile; ·

And go at last.

What, were ye born to be

An hour or half's delight;

And so to bid good-night?
'Twas pity Nature brought ye forth,
Merely to show your worth,
And lose you quite.

But you are lovely leaves, where we
May read how soon things have
Their end, though ne'er so brave:
And after they have shown their pride,
Like you, a-while, they glide
Into the grave.

TO PRIMROSES FILLED WITH MORNING DEW.

Why do ye weep, sweet babes? can tears

Speak grief in you,

Who were but born

Just as the modest morn

Teem'd her refreshing dew?
Alas, you have not known that shower
That mars a flower,

Nor felt th' unkind

Breath of a blasting wind,

Nor are ye worn with years;
Or warp'd as we,

Who think it strange to see,

Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young,
To speak by tears, before ye have a tongue.

Speak, whimp'ring younglings, and make known
The reason why

Ye droop and weep;

Is it for want of sleep,
Or childish lullaby?

Or that ye have not seen as yet
The violet?

Or brought a kiss

From that Sweet-heart, to this?
-No, no, this sorrow shown

By your tears shed,

Would have this lecture read,

That things of greatest, so of meanest worth, Conceived with grief are, and with tears brought forth.

TO DAFFADILS.

Fair Daffadils, we weep to see

You haste away so soon;
As yet the early-rising sun
Has not attain'd his noon.
Stay, stay,

Until the hasting day
Has run

But to the even-song;
And, having pray'd together, we
Will go with you along.

We have short time to stay, as you;
We have as short a spring;
As quick a growth to meet decay,
As you, or any thing.

We die

As your hours do, and dry
Away,

Like to the summer's rain;
Or as the pearls of morning's dew,
Ne'er to be found again.

TO MEADOWS.

Ye have been fresh and green,

Ye have been fill'd with flowers;

And ye the walks have been

Where maids have spent their hours.

You have beheld how they

With wicker arks did come,

To kiss and bear away

The richer cowslips home.

You've heard them sweetly sing,
And seen them in a round;
Each virgin, like a spring,
With honeysuckles crown'd.

But now, we see none here,
Whose silvery feet did tread,
And with dishevell'd hair

Adorn'd this smoother mead.

Like unthrifts, having spent
Your stock, and needy grown,
You're left here to lament
Your poor estates alone.

A THANKSGIVING TO GOD.

Lord, thou hast given me a cell,
Wherein to dwell;

A little house, whose humble roof

Is weather proof;

Under the spars of which I lie
Both soft and dry;

Where thou, my chamber for to ward,
Hast set a guard

Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep
Me, while I sleep.

Low is my porch, as is my fate;
Both void of state;

And yet the threshold of my door

Is worn by th' poor,

Who thither come, and freely get
Good words, or meat.

Like as my parlour, so my hall
And kitchen's small;

A little buttery, and therein

A little bin,

Which keeps my little loaf of bread
Unchipt, unflead;