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BVt let stil
Silence trew night watches keepe,
That sacred peace
may in assurance rayne,
And tymely sleep, when it is
tyme to sleepe,
May poure his limbs forth on your
pleasant playne,
The whiles an hundred little winged
loues,
Like diuers fethered doues,
Shall fly and
flutter round about your bed,
And in the secret
darke, that none reproues,
Their prety stealthes
shal worke, & snares shal spread
To filch away sweet
snatches of delight,
Conceald through couert night.
Ye sonnes of Venus, play your sports at will,
For greedy pleasure, carelesse of your toyes,
Thinks
more vpon her paradise of ioyes,
Then what ye do,
albe it good or ill.
All night therefore attend your
merry play,
For it will soone be day:
Now none
doth hinder you, that say or sing,
Ne will the woods
now answer, nor your Eccho ring.
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