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Now ceasse ye
damsels your delights forepast,
Enough is it, that
all the day was youres:
Now day is doen, and night
is nighing fast:
Now bring the Bryde into the
brydall boures.
Now night is come, now soone her
disaray,
And in her bed her lay;
Lay her in
lillies and in violets,
And silken courteins ouer
her display,
And odourd sheetes, and Arras couerlets,
Behold how goodly my faire loue does ly
In proud
humility;
Like vnto Maia, when as Ioue her tooke,
In Tempe, lying on the flowry gras,
Twixt sleepe
and wake, after she weary was,
With bathing in the
Acidalian brooke
Now it is night, ye damsels may be
gon,
And leaue my loue alone,
And leaue likewise
your former lay to sing:
The woods no more shal
answere, nor your echo ring
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